Man, it was definitely time to bring Cookie up from the ranch, Kiersten thought, scrambling up a steep bank of rocks. Her mare wintered at the lower ranch, since snow got too deep on Rocky Peak for her to leave the shed. A horse would have been handy to ride now, while she checked the fence around the property for damage and made a list of necessary materials. The four-wheeler was good for hauling materials up, but it couldn’t get close to the fence line in many places.
Oscar snuffled ahead, searching out the scent of anything chaseable. Now and then, he raced back to make sure she still followed.
A few birds had made their journeys back from whatever balmy place they’d escaped to in the winter. Their timid twitters serenaded her from the still-bare scrub oak bushes as she passed by.
At the corner of the fence, she stopped to rest and enjoy the early morning quiet. Here the eastern fence line turned and separated the north edge of her property from the BLM parcel. This corner of her property was at the top of a mountain and provided panoramic views in every direction. A good place to be at sunrise or sunset.
Down the hill, a herd of deer grazed. As if choreographed, they snapped their heads up and looked toward the hilltop. Had Oscar spooked them?
The sound of hoofbeats soon told her otherwise.
“Oscar, come!” she called.
Oscar abandoned his play and rushed to her side, ears forward.
This couldn’t be good. She never ran into other people up here. And after yesterday’s confrontation... Why hadn’t she strapped on her pistol before she left the cabin?
A sweaty buckskin gelding topped the hill, then halted.
Time for another confrontation.
The cowboy dismounted and made a thorough visual examination of her.
Freckles. The first thing he’d see would be her freckles, since she never bothered with makeup except for trips to town. Add to that her big messy ponytail, and it was amazing the guy was taking a second look. And a third? Well, he wasn’t exactly looking at her face, now was he? Warm from her hike up the hill, she’d unzipped her jacket, exposing the only curves on her body—her breasts. The tall stranger was all but ogling them.
Not in the least appreciative of his silent admiration, she tugged her jacket closed.
With a small cough, he cleared his throat. “Howdy, neighbor. I’m Cleve. You must be Miss Day.”
Another Texan, but clean shaven, with light skin, short dark hair and nearly black eyes. He wore a red flannel shirt with a blue t-shirt under, tucked cowboy-style into his Wranglers. Around his waist he sported a plain leather belt and everyday buckle, not a shiny gold-and-silver number like the guy she’d met yesterday. Brown boots, and the straw cowboy hat he’d removed when he introduced himself.
It was hard not to meet his wide, open smile with one of her own. Too hard, in fact. “Hi. Kiersten.” A tiny gold hoop hung from his left ear, odd on a cowboy, but nothing blame-worthy. And he was definitely fine to look at—if she’d been interested in looking at men anymore.
He took her hand in his and shook it with big friendly strokes, settled his hat back atop his head and looked around. “Some view up here.”
She nodded. “See that peak over there, the darker one? It’s in Utah. My Grandpa said it’s about a hundred and fifty miles away.”
Cleve whistled behind her. “You walk up here?”
She grinned at how winded he was from riding horseback up the mountain. “I walked the fence line, checking for snow damage. I’ll be hanging it back up in the next few days.”
“What kinda fence is that?” The wire net lay flat and ran parallel to an army of steel posts marching straight as an arrow into the horizon.
Most cattlemen marked the edge of their property with two or three simple strands of barbed wire, rather than the four-foot net fencing sheep ranchers used. “It’s a fence to keep my nuisance sheep in, and your fat cows out, since the law says I’m responsible for both.” She probably sounded nasty, but the sheep ranchers had always been treated unfairly by Colorado lawmakers who represented the more wealthy cattle ranchers.
He rubbed his chin with the back of his fingers. “I meant, why’s it on the ground?”
“Seven feet of snow on a hillside tends to make a mess of a fence, come spring. Used to come up here and find this part of the fence crumpled up way down there.” She pointed at a stand of aspens about twenty feet down the hill. “Might find several steel posts bent over flat. One of the other old-timers came up with the idea of unhooking the wire from the posts in the fall. Keeps the snow from leaning on it for months on end, and the elk from getting tangled in it.”
“Pretty good idea, then.”
“You’ll find I’m not stupid, in spite of what your boss might think.”
“Ah...Boss?” He scratched the back of his hair, tipping the front of his hat a little.
“Yeah. Charles. The world’s last remaining male chauvinist pig. Boss Hogg, in a Cadillac truck instead of his trademark white convertible. Give him my regards.”
Her middle fingers raised in another rebellious salute.
His eyebrows lifted. “Doesn’t sound like he put his best foot forward.”
“Just let him know that next time, his foot better have a bullet-proof boot on, cause I’ll be comin out with my twelve gauge. Oh yeah, and let him know I thought over his offer.”
Cleve’s eyes lit with interest. “And?”
“You’re probably shy about giving your boss the bird, even though it’s a message, so just tell him, ‘Not everybody can be bought, Jackass, and there are a million five reasons why,’ okay?”
His eyes widened. “Ah. Wasn’t too persuasive, then?”
“Definitely not a people person, that Chaz. I thought his lawyers were bad. You must be his new, what, manager? Ranch foreman?”
Big fingers rubbed over his chin. “Somethin like that.”
Why was the guy so confused? Maybe the thin air was starving his brain of oxygen. Seemed nice enough. Too bad he’d gotten hooked up with such a peckerwood. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Cleve. Good luck with Boss. Is there a Mrs. Hogg, I mean Howell?”
He grinned. “Not yet.”
“I’d say his chances keep getting thinner as his waist gets thicker, and women get more crazy ideas in their heads about equal opportunities, all that Women’s Lip nonsense.” The mere thought of Chaz’s asinine ideals had sent her hands to her hips again. Damn. “I need to get back and do something domestic around the house now.”
With a wave over her shoulder, she started back down the hill.
“Wait!” Cleve followed down the hill on his side of the fence. “You want some help when you put up this part-time fence?”
Work with the cattlemen? She’d be damned if she’d ever take help from Chaz, but Cleve seemed friendly. And cute. Shaking off cute, she shrugged. “Sure.”
“Wanta do it tomorrow? Same time?”
“I’ve, um, got a...date.” And why did she say that? Why should she want him to think she had a date? “How ’bout Sunday.”
“Sunday it is,” he answered with a smile.
Damn fine smile he had. George Strait fine.
As she walked away, she called back, “Don’t forget your gloves!”
“Hey, wait!”
Criminy. She stopped again.
“You startin at the top, or bottom?”
“Top. If we get to the bottom, I’ll feed you lunch.”
* * * *
Finished showering, Kiersten packed up her overnight bag. Cleve had actually offered to help her with the fence. Incredible. He must not know his employer’s policy: Intimidate and Obliterate the Little People. Once Boss told him how he was supposed to treat ‘Miss Day,’ he probably wouldn’t show up on Sunday.
Outside, she slapped the lowered tailgate and Oscar jumped into the bed of her red Toyota. Probably anxious to visit Grandpa’s dog, Scratch.
With one last look back at her house in the rearview, she released the clutch and let the truck idle down the driveway.
It was good to drive an actual truck all the way to town, now that the roads were clear of snow. During the winter months, she kept her pickup parked down the county road where the snow plows turned around. When the snow was deep, she drove a four-wheeler or snowmobile between the truck and the cabin to make weekly trips to town.
In twenty minutes, she parked in the driveway at the ranch.
Oscar bounded over the side of her truck, yapping at Scratch to come and play.
She took the front steps two at a time and hugged Grandpa, who stood in the open screen door. He felt thinner and smelled like cigarettes, though he swore he’d quit. Well, no good badgering him about it at this point.
“There’s my girl.” His gravelly voice tickled in her ear and he squeezed tighter. “Looks like ya been feedin that mangy mutt more’n ya been feedin yourself.”
“Aw, Grandpa, I weigh more than I did last fall. You’re the one who looks hungry.”
“Psssh. Your man’s out changin the water on the fields. Where’s he takin ya tonight?”
My man? She stepped back. Stay cool. He was forever pushing her toward Nate. Sheesh. When she and Nate had agreed to keep his sexual orientation on the down-low, she’d never dreamed Grandpa would be so determined they were dating.
“We’re just friends. Friends.”
“I watch the TV, little girl. I know all about friends these days. Call it what you like, it’s still livin fast and loose to an old timer like me. You shouldn’t be givin away your body without a ring on your finger.”
“Grandpa! Friends. That’s it.” I’m not loose, I’m freakin celibate! Which made her think of a tall Texan walking toward her with hat in hand. Now she felt even more celibate.
“Maybe you’ll at least make me a grandbaby out of it,” he muttered. “Here he comes now.”
“Good. Let’s take him to town for lunch. I’m starving.”
Nate parked the ATV next to her truck and swaggered up the steps, managing to look very masculine in the process. No wonder Grandpa believed they could be an item, as hard as Nate worked his act. With knee-high irrigating boots over his jeans, he looked quite the farmer.
“Hey, princess! ’Bout time you showed up. We thought maybe you broke down or got stuck on the way back from your little castle.” He brushed a kiss on her forehead.
She smiled into Nate’s too-handsome face. It was great to see him, but they couldn’t build false hopes for Grandpa.
“I walked the east fence up the mountain this morning before I left. Then I had to shut everything up for the night.” Grandpa didn’t need to know about her recent visitors. She’d wait until later to tell Nate about her morning. “We’re ready for lunch. Clean yourself up. You look like shit.”
Truthfully, he looked pretty damn good. With golden hair and skin to match, shining blue eyes and perfectly proportioned features, Nate’s picture could have been next to the entry for ‘handsome’ in the dictionary.
He pretended to take offense as he schlepped inside to get changed, no doubt into something stylish. The guy had more clothes than she did. And all of her best ones were gifts from him.
“Chinese or Mexican, Grandpa?” She only asked as a joke, since he refused to eat Chinese. Some holdover from hating the Japs when he fought in the war. No matter how many times she tried to explain the difference, Grandpa would have none of it.
Nate took them straight to La Cocita, where they scarcely needed to look at their menus before they ordered.
“How many lambs do we have now?” She knew, but asking gave them a chance to brag. Four hundred forty remained after weathering a severe late spring storm and two dog attacks.
Grandpa swore he’d never seen such a healthy crop of lambs.
She listened and dug into the chips and salsa, while he progressed to estimates of how much weight the lambs may have gained. Yum. Mexican was definitely hitting the spot today.
Chairs scraped at the next table, and a booming Texas voice said, “There’s no Mexican like Tex-mex, and the only place to get it is in the great state of Texas.”
Chaz and Cleve.
The chip lodged in her throat and sent her into a choking fit.
When she finally caught her breath, she snapped, “Then maybe he should go back there, where he doesn’t look like an idiot in his ten-gallon freakin white hat!”
Seated across from her, Grandpa fidgeted, though he must agree with her opinion.
Chaz looked down his bulbous nose, probably to see who was letting their woman speak out of turn. He caught her glare head-on. “Well, well. Isn’t this a pleasant su-prize? Ah’ve been anxious to meet the menfolk in the Day fam’ly.” He looked at her, waiting for an introduction in spite of his sexist slight.
“Oh, all right. Winston Day, Nate Cook, this is Cleve, and Chaz Howell.”
The men all nodded and murmured greetings. For some reason, when Chaz looked at Cleve, Cleve put his finger to his lips.
Much as she’d like to say something scathing to Chaz, she didn’t want to worry Grandpa. Bad enough he had to know about the Texans suddenly taking up residence.
She pasted on a cheery expression. “Looks like we’ll be seeing more of our high country neighbors this summer.”
Cleve tipped his head and smiled. “What a nice way to get to know our new neighbors, right Chaz?”
Did Cleve’s brows raise in silent communication to Chaz?
While Grandpa told them stories about the previous owners of the new Flying H ranch, she did her level best to ignore the Texans and concentrate on her food.
Finished with their meal, she rose to leave with Grandpa and Nate.
“Mister Day,” Chaz said, “Ah’d like to make an appointment to set down and talk a bit o’ business.”
Her eyes rolled.
“Why don’t we have our people call your people, and set something up?” she asked in her most nasal imitation of a moneyed snob. “Or better yet, let’s not, and say we did.” Holding Grandpa’s elbow, she escorted him out the door without a look back at the overdressed bully. Damn her nemesis, anyway! As hard as she’d tried to protect Grandpa from worrying, the blabbermouth had to go and involve him.
“What’s that two-bit cowpoke want, Kiersten?” Grandpa asked as she helped him into the front seat of Nate’s Xterra.
She heaved a sigh. “He’s made another offer on Rocky Peak. I already told him to get lost, but he won’t deal with a woman if she doesn’t agree with him.”
“Good girl.”
What a relief when he let the topic go and relaxed against his seat.
A little way down the road, he asked, “How much did that blow-hard offer you?”
She met Nate’s gaze in his rearview. “It doesn’t matter, Gramps. I’m staying on the Peak.” Please let it go, please, please, please.
“How much?” Grandpa repeated.
So much for letting it go. “A million, five.” Silence followed as Nate drove toward Wal-Mart.
“If you wanta sell it and retire, you should,” Grandpa said, at last. “In all the time I spent on the Peak, I never imagined it’d be worth that much money. Maybe you shouldn’t fight it anymore. Come back to town, settle down and live a comfortable life. A man can die proud knowing he left an inheritance that size.”
“You’re not dying, Grandpa.” She could only hope. For months, she’d been trying to get him to the doctor, but he’d dug in his heels because he feared his diagnosis. After watching Grandma waste away with lung cancer, he was convinced he’d suffer the same fate. “Quit trying to guilt me into settling down again by acting like you’re on your deathbed.”
“Thirty-two years old and she thinks she’s finished with life, Nate. You ever hear of a thirty-year-old widow that never remarried? Why do you suppose she wants to hang onto the damn mountain when she’s got nobody to leave it to? Couple more years and she won’t be able to breed up, anyway.”
In his reflection, Nate fought back a grin while he parked.
“Jesus, Grandpa, let it go.” She slammed her door as she got out, then stalked inside the superstore, leaving the men behind.
After she shopped for her groceries and calmed down some, she’d be ready to speak to Grandpa again. She wouldn’t face him when she was this angry and say something she’d regret later.
Focusing on her list and loading her cart helped cool her anger.
When she’d finished shopping, she found Nate and Grandpa at the front of the store, visiting with one of the guys from the senior center.
Grandpa’s arm went round her shoulders as he ended his chat, and she walked close by him out to Nate’s Xterra while Nate pushed the cart. So little time they had together, and she had to waste it by being bitchy with him. It was probably best for her to live all alone, since she couldn’t seem to get along with other people anymore.
* * * *
Cleve’s eyes had followed Kiersten’s backside as she left the restaurant flanked by her men. He’d watched the easy way Nate’s arm circled her shoulders before he bent to murmur something in her ear and make her laugh out loud. Her face was glorious when she smiled. Nothing to sneeze at when she was mad, either. She’d worn makeup to town, gone and covered up those pretty freckles. Simple sterling hoops hung from her ears and a worn silver locket dangled from a chain right where her cleavage should start. If she hadn’t had on such a big old t-shirt, maybe a guy could see it.
One loose braid had wiggled between her shoulder blades as she’d helped her granddad into the little yellow excuse for an SUV.
Now why in hell hadn’t that prettyboy of hers held the door for her?
He shook his head at Nate’s lack of manners and pulled his gaze back inside. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched his father’s oldest employee, Charles Randall, tuck into his lunch.
He cleared his throat. Might be hard to treat this elder with respect. “Any idea how Miss Day got it in her head that I’m your manager?”
Chaz shrugged and grinned. “Women.” He looked away, clearly conveying his feelings of superiority.
Losing his cool wouldn’t accomplish much, so Cleve restrained his anger at Chaz’s insolence. “Seems you mighta come across a bit abrasive. She was pretty hot about it this mornin, still. It’s kinda hard to sweet-talk somebody into a deal when you piss ’em off.”
* * * *
Chaz crossed his arms and glared back at Cleve. He’d been working for Cleve’s daddy for twenty years. Truth was, Chaz wasn’t the least bit interested in sweet-talking some hard-headed little twit of a girl. CJ Howell, Sr. had played hardball, and instructed him to continue doing so. It would be years till Cleve developed the business prowess of his daddy, and it was his new assignment to hold the little shit’s hand until he’d grown into what he was being handed on a silver platter. He’d always be the ranch manager, and never the ranch owner, which chapped his hide. If some woman who didn’t know her place in God’s order of things wanted to think he was the owner of the newest Flyin H Ranch, then far be it from him to correct her.
“Might be, Cleve, might be. The way Ah look at it, her granddaddy’s the one we oughtta be makin nice with. He’s the one who owns the land.”
“Tell me what you know about Pop’s lawyers, Chaz. Miss Day mentioned havin trouble with ’em.”
“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “That girl caused more than her share of trouble for your daddy. I reckon she got the bad side of old Strom and his son in court more than once.”
He knew full well the tactics the law firm of Strom and Strom had used. While CJ hadn’t necessarily approved, he’d been content pretending real people weren’t steamrolled by his ‘Take No Prisoners’ business ethics. If he didn’t meet them personally, then he didn’t have his conscience wailing about right and wrong. Strom made his millions representing CJ, doing his dirty work. Now that CJ was retired and handing over his Texas estates to his other sons and two sons-in-law, he’d sent Chaz up to Colorado to lend Cleve a hand.
Chaz asked, “How’s come you didn’t set Miss Day right about you bein the Howell?”
Cleve shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea to first find out what went on with you two. She’s dead set against my family. Maybe I can smooth things over, pave the way for a deal of some sort. She didn’t go for the one-point-five. I wonder how much it’d take?”
“It ain’t a matter of dealin with that one, I keep tellin ya. It’s Granddad. Women got no idea how to make a deal anyhow, unless it’s a pair of shoes in Dillard’s. Offer her some new high-heels, and a coupla pocketbooks, she’ll go for it.”
The younger man looked out at the parking lot. “I’ve seen her wearin hiking boots and sneakers. Somethin tells me she ain’t the type to be bribed with spike heels and purses. Let me deal with her from here on out, old timer. You two didn’t hit it off.”
Chaz nodded. He’d give the kid a chance, but he’d keep an eye on him. And when the time was right, the little lady might run into some persuasion of a different sort.