The Rancher's Prospect

“It really isn’t a vacation, I’m here to get to know my sister,” she said. “But Lauren has her own job and I’m not used to being idle. So when folks started asking if I was available to work, I thought it was a good way to keep occupied.”

“Why the Boxing N?”

“It’s as good a place as any. I’m taking contracts at more than one location, but I have a feeling this will be my favorite.”

“If you’ve got employment elsewhere, you don’t need to work here.”

Tara’s blue eyes narrowed. “It’s not for you to tell me what to do.”

“That isn’t what I’m doing. I was just pointing out that you don’t seem to need the job here.”

“Are you also the arbiter of what I need?”

“I didn’t say that, either,” Josh insisted.

“Sure you did. What’s your problem, anyhow? I’m only asking because I’ll be working at the Boxing N and your attitude affects me.”

His head was starting to spin. “Then quit.”

She shrugged. “Technically I’m a freelance contractor, but regardless, I have no intention of quitting. And if you think you can fire me, reconsider the thought. Do I need to point out again that Mr. Nelson made it very clear that I’ll be working for him, not the ranch? I’ll be looking out for his interests, not yours.”

Josh counted to ten, then to ten once more. She had him over a barrel. As much as he wanted to lay down the law to his grandfather, he couldn’t disenfranchise the old guy. Besides, if Walt had hired Tara as his personal employee or contractor, nobody else could fire her. Well, since he owned the Boxing N now, he could restrict her access to the ranch, but he could imagine the explosion that would follow.

For a brief second, Josh considered trying to convince Tara to help him get Walt to be more reasonable, but she’d made it clear where her loyalties lay.

“Very well,” Josh said in a stiff, formal tone. “At the very least, I’d appreciate reports about your progress in the office.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Walt for any updates he wants to share.”

She marched to her car and got behind the wheel. Waving as though they’d simply had a cordial chat, she drove down the road toward the main entrance.

Damn, she was aggravating.

His thoughts spinning, Josh returned to his porch, even more discouraged than when he’d gotten off the phone with the retired pharmacist. Without treating Walt with a disrespect he didn’t deserve, Josh couldn’t fire Tara, and he couldn’t direct her work since he wasn’t the one paying her.

A grim humor shook him.

One thing he had to give to his grandfather—he was a wily old coot. Walt had planned ahead, hired Tara and made sure she knew he was the one writing her paychecks. Josh couldn’t help wondering why. There were qualified secretaries and accountants in Schuyler that Walt could have employed. Of course it was doubtful that any of them looked like Tara—so what was the possibility that his grandfather had been bowled over by a young woman’s beauty? Not in an inappropriate way, but the way an old man appreciates the reminders of youth and a young man’s vigor.

Josh didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. Of one thing he was sure—Walt was a stiff-necked pain in the ass and couldn’t let go of controlling the ranch, but he was honorable. And on that, Josh trusted they had a small amount of common ground.

* * *

CARL STANFIELD PULLED to a stop at the light and waved at Emmett Foster as he crossed in front of the sheriff’s cruiser. Emmett was around sixty and ornery as sin, but Carl liked him. It was hard not to like most of the people in Schuyler. That wasn’t to say his job was heaven on earth. No job—and no town—was perfect. But on average, it was considerably calmer in Schuyler than in St. Louis, where he’d worked for a good deal of his career.

St. Louis was a great place, but it was still a city. And after being a homicide detective for a decade, few things surprised Carl anymore—he’d pretty much seen the worst.

But in Schuyler he saw a lot of the best. Of course, he also had to deal with the occasional cattle theft. Then there was the time he’d arrested a guy for a DUI because he was drunk while riding a horse. Not that a DUI while riding a horse would hold up in court—officially the charge was drunk and disorderly—but folks in Schuyler loved the story.

After parking at the medical center, Carl went inside.

“Hi, Karen,” he greeted the receptionist. “It isn’t an emergency, but does Lauren have a minute?”

“I’ll check when she’s finished with her patient.”

“Great.”

Unable to relax, Carl stood at the window watching the traffic pass in the street. He’d been in Schuyler for over two years and it was working out well.

Now he wanted to get his personal life on track. When he’d lived in St. Louis, the idea of settling down had held little appeal. The divorce rate among cops was disturbingly high, but things seemed different in Schuyler. A small town sheriff surely had a better shot at a successful marriage than a homicide detective working all hours of the day and night. Besides, the town felt like a good place to settle down and raise a family.

Not that Schuyler didn’t have its pitfalls. The area had quite a history of ranch rivalries and family loyalties, which was why the county supervisors had decided to look for law enforcement from outside the area. For the same reason, Carl had realized it might be best to date women who were relatively new to town...such as Lauren. Well, Lauren was the only one he’d dated, but there was something special about her.

“Carl?” Karen said, breaking into his thoughts.

He swung around. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you wait in Lauren’s office?”

“Sure.”

That was better. He’d rather not talk to Lauren in front of the waiting patients, and particularly not in front of Karen after their recent encounter at Ryan’s Roadhouse. She and her boyfriend had just broken up and she’d had more than her share of booze, though to her credit she’d given her car keys to the bartender the minute she ordered her first Long Island iced tea. Somehow she’d consumed five of them and had still been sitting upright.

Poor kid. She’d cried on his shoulder and asked what was wrong with her...following the question with a passionate kiss. Carl had declined the overture and made sure she got home safely. He doubted she remembered much about the evening and would rather keep it that way.

Karen gestured to the door on her left. “Go ahead. Room ten.”

Carl spotted Lauren at a computer station as he turned the corner. She was entering information, only looking up when a patient approached her with a question. As she talked to the man and his child, her face lit with the smile that had drawn Carl from the first time they’d met.

Smiling himself, he stepped into her office.

He’d liked Lauren from their initial meeting at the Hawkins wedding and had been pleased when she decided to move to Schuyler. As the story went, a few days after the wedding she’d called the clinic to see if a job was available. A month later she was living in Schuyler. It was easy to imagine how delighted the clinic had been to hire a PA who didn’t have to be convinced that moving to a remote town, two hours from a commercial airport, wasn’t a fate worse than death.

Of course, that didn’t mean she hadn’t changed her mind once she’d arrived and faced the prospect of a long Montana winter. Could that be part of the reason she’d started putting him off...uncertainty she wanted to stay, after all?

Carl was annoyed at himself for making excuses for her refusals; he didn’t suffer from a lack of confidence, but Lauren’s absence of enthusiasm had tweaked his ego, especially since his instincts said that she liked him.

Restless, he got to his feet again. The office suited Lauren—well organized with personal touches that made it inviting without being unprofessional. On the bookshelves were a few photos of an older man and woman—presumably her adoptive parents—along with one that appeared to be a selfie of her and Tara Livingston in Paris, the Eiffel Tower behind them.

Just then the door opened behind him, and he turned around. It was Lauren.

“Hi, Carl,” she said as she came into the room. “Karen mentioned you needed to see me. Is there a problem?”

“Not at all. I was driving past and wanted to touch base with you about tomorrow evening. We’ve tried some places here, so how about going to Windy Bluffs for dinner? There’s a steak house, an Italian place, Mexican and Chinese. The Chinese place isn’t as good as it could be, but it’s edible. Does one of them sound okay to you?”

“All of them, I guess.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Uh...usually Chinese,” she told him, looking nervous. “But if it isn’t that good, maybe it would be best to go elsewhere. How about the...um, Mexican restaurant?”

“Fabulous,” he answered, pleased. Deep inside he’d wondered if she would say she didn’t want to go out with him again after all. “Maybe after dinner we could see a movie, or perhaps take a walk along the river.”

“Either would be nice. The trail beside the water is pretty, though I’m uncomfortable going there alone.”

“It isn’t a good idea to go into isolated areas by yourself,” Carl agreed. “Let’s see what appeals once we finish dinner. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“I won’t keep you—I know how busy this place is. How about tomorrow at five?”

“Sure.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Carl walked out, refraining from whistling. She hadn’t canceled and seemed to be okay with his suggestions for the following evening.

Eating in Windy Bluffs had been his top choice, since he preferred going someplace where fewer people knew them. He had yet to eat a meal out in Schuyler without townspeople stopping to chat. As a rule he welcomed it, since law enforcement in a small community was partly about building relationships. But it had made his first dates with Lauren awkward to have so many interruptions.

Carl let loose a whistle as he climbed into his cruiser. Life in Schuyler was good.

* * *

LAUREN’S HAND SHOOK as she picked up the chart for her last patient of the day. When Carl had asked what restaurant she preferred, she’d forced herself to say something definite as a preference. She’d read that men usually wanted women to be clear about their choices.

After dealing with Mrs. Whittier’s “sore” ear—the elderly widow mostly came to the clinic for company—Lauren walked to the Roundup Café to meet Tara for supper.

“Hi,” she greeted her twin. “How was your day?”

Tara smiled, an impish expression on her face. “I had a very interesting afternoon. Walt Nelson hired me to work in his ranch office, and Josh McGregor did his best to end the job before it began.”

“He fired you?” Lauren asked, dismayed. She’d be sick if someone did that to her, but Tara didn’t seem disturbed in the least.

“Nope,” her sister answered cheerfully. “He asked me to quit. I refused and we argued like seven-year-olds grabbing for the same ice cream cone.”

Lauren was amazed her sister could be so nonchalant. She wished she could be equally at ease with confrontation, but she’d learned at a young age how destructive arguments could be. Her adoptive parents had loved her, but they’d also hoped having a second child would heal their marital woes.

She’d been six when they’d taken her in. Her new mother had dressed her in pretty clothing, and her new daddy had proudly introduced her as his daughter. But they hadn’t stopped arguing, and her new family had always appeared to be crumbling. Then when she was in high school, it fell apart completely.

She had responded by avoiding any sort of conflict. Her brother had responded to their parents’ disastrous marriage by becoming a philandering jerk. It was always painful to think about him.

“Do you...er, think Josh is really opposed to you working there?” she asked, trying to push away her memories and the nausea they inspired. Mostly she didn’t like that aspect of the person she’d become, startled by her own shadow and wanting to jump in a rabbit hole whenever someone raised their voice.

“Oh, yes,” Tara said, “he definitely doesn’t want me there.”

“Won’t it be difficult to work for Mr. Nelson if Josh is upset about it?”

“Not for me. I’m going to talk with Walt again to establish guidelines. If he has any concerns, we’ll iron them out then. As for any issues Josh might have, that’s his problem.”

Lauren tried to relax and adopt her sister’s offhand attitude. It hurt to think they could have grown up together, and she had an idea that she might feel stronger if she’d had an ally all those years ago. She’d certainly taken enough psychology classes to see how it could have made a difference.

Silly. That wasn’t the way it had happened, and there wasn’t any point to thinking about the might-have-beens. At least she’d had a family, however troubled, and her parents loved her, regardless of how their marriage had ended. Tara didn’t have anyone and had never had a real home. Maybe that was why she didn’t worry about where she lived and always seemed to be looking at what was over the horizon.

It was odd, the way things had turned out.

* * *

THE NEXT AFTERNOON Lauren’s nerves were tighter than ever. She wanted to ask Tara to come over while she got ready for dinner, except it would have meant revealing her tension over going out with Carl Stanfield.

The phone rang, and she jumped. She grabbed the handset, disgusted with herself for hoping it was Carl, regretfully canceling their evening. “Hello.”

“Hey, Lauren,” Emily said. “What are you wearing for the big date?”

“It isn’t a big date,” Lauren corrected automatically. “We’re just going out to dinner. That is, we’ve already gone out a number of times, so it isn’t something to get carried away about.”

“If you say so. What are you going to wear?”

“I thought my black blouse and the matching wraparound skirt.”

“Not bad. Just accessorize with something that makes a statement.” Emily’s parents were clothing buyers and her sister a supermodel, so she knew what she was talking about.

“I’m not good at making statements.”

The doorbell rang. “Sorry, Em, someone’s here. I’ve gotta go,” Lauren said, disconnecting and running to answer it. She found Emily there, grinning at her, cell phone still to her ear. It almost seemed like old times back in LA, except Emily hadn’t been pregnant then.

Emily came inside and settled on the couch, putting her feet on a stool. “I love being pregnant, but my feet swell. Okay, fashion-show time. Go get dressed.”

Lauren put on the black skirt and blouse she’d bought in Los Angeles while shopping with Emily. Her friend helped her choose a silver scarf to wear at her waist and place a large silver pin on her shoulder.

“You look terrific,” Emily said when she got up to leave.

“I can’t compete with Tara’s elegance,” Lauren answered. In contrast to her twin’s sophistication, she felt as if she was a country bumpkin. Before they’d met, Lauren had figured she and her sister would be alike. After all, they were identical twins and she’d read stories of separated twins discovering amazing similarities and parallels in their lives. So far it hadn’t worked out that way.

“Why would you want to compete with Tara?” Emily countered. “Her clothes work for her, but you have to be yourself, and anyone worth knowing would agree with me.”

Lauren choked out a laugh and said good-night to her friend—at least she was going home to a husband who adored her.

The doorbell rang a short time later. It was Carl, deliciously handsome in a tan sports jacket.

His gaze ran over her in what seemed to be appreciation.

“You look amazing,” he told her.

“I had help. Emily came over.”

He smiled. “I’m flattered. You called in a fashion consultant for our evening together.”

His interpretation was nice and she decided not to explain that her friend’s most important contribution had been to calm her shaky nerves. It couldn’t take much longer before he figured out what she was really like, and a dull melancholy went through her at the thought.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN TARA ARRIVED at the Boxing N on Monday morning, Josh McGregor met her at the office and she wondered if he’d make another attempt to get her to quit.

“The building is quite old. It was converted to the ranch office after my grandparents were married,” he explained as they stepped inside. “Before that it was used for guests and as a second bunkhouse during the busy season.”

“Where was the office before?” she asked.

“The house. The ranch hands were in and out a lot, and they smoked cigars. The tobacco made my grandmother ill, so she probably asked if operations could be shifted to another location.”

From the corner of her eye she noticed Walt had come through the open door and was listening.

“The other day I found some historical records, including an invoice from the 1800s,” she murmured.

“Really?” Josh seemed interested. “I wouldn’t want anything like that thrown away.”

She deliberately turned to address his grandfather. “Walt, I don’t dispose of anything unless I’m asked to discard items older than a particular date.”

The elderly man appeared to be assessing the situation.

“Older than a certain date?” Josh repeated.

“There are legalities involved with record keeping, but it’s an owner’s decision what to do with paperwork that no longer has tax or other legal implications.”

“Okay. Put that sort of thing in boxes and I’ll check it over.”

“You aren’t my employer, Mr. McGregor. Walt, shall I organize any historic material I locate?” she asked. Walt grinned while a flash of anger crossed Josh’s face.

Walt nodded. “Can it be stored in a way that makes sense?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, but I’d suggest using archival storage materials. A lot of paper today is acidic, so putting old documents into files without protecting them could be damaging.”

“Get whatever you need,” Josh put in hastily. “We have an office supply store in Schuyler, and if they don’t have what you require, they can order it.”

Walt jutted out his chin. “I’ll phone and tell the store you’ll be making purchases for the Boxing N. They can bill me.”

The two men stared at each other in silent combat, and Tara didn’t want to find out how long it would take for one of them to back down.

“That’s fine,” she interjected. “Walt, we didn’t talk about whether office records should also be computerized.”

“No,” Walt replied immediately.

“Yes,” Josh said at the same time.

“You’re working for me,” Walt reminded her.

“Then I’ll hire you, too,” Josh asked. “Everything needs to be computerized.”

Tara’s head was beginning to ache; the tension between the two men was palpable. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but her sympathies were entirely with Walt.

“Perhaps this could be sorted out another time,” she said finally.

With a stiff, angry nod, Josh stomped out of the office building.

Walt settled into one of the comfortable chairs at the opposite end of the room while she started to work.

“My grandson is wrong,” he said after several minutes.

“About what?”

“Evelyn didn’t ask me to move my office out of the house. But I could tell cigar smoke bothered her, so I moved into this place.”

The wistful expression in the old man’s eyes made Tara curious, but she didn’t try to probe.

“That was thoughtful,” she answered.

“I would have done anything for my wife...at least, that’s what I always claimed. She was an amazing woman. I should have...”

His voice trailed off, and he looked at the window behind her, though she didn’t think it was the garden he was seeing. She’d learned the Nelsons had been in a terrible car accident the previous autumn; Evelyn had lingered for a few days before she passed, and Walt had been left with a painful limp. It was dreadfully unfair that he would have to spend his senior years without his wife. Again she felt that odd, powerful liking for the older man. His obvious loneliness reminded Tara of how solitary her own life was.

Since he seemed lost in thought again, Tara returned her attention to the chaotic office. Organizing it would take some time. The system—such as it was—appeared to be limited to creating the piles of papers she’d seen the first day, along with battered boxes and paper bags. Instead of holding paperwork, the ancient filing cabinets were stuffed with a miscellany of items.

After a while Tara glanced up and saw Walt had left. That made things easier. She combined several partial boxes so she’d have containers to unload the cabinets. Opening one of the file drawers, she pulled out a large tangle of leather straps.

“What have you got there?” Josh McGregor asked.

Tara jerked at the unexpected voice, her heart skipping. She made a mental note to keep the office door closed while she worked and to look for a bell that could alert her when anyone was entering. For such tall men, both Walt and his grandson moved quietly, and she didn’t enjoy being surprised. One coworker had claimed she was worse than a cat, jumping whenever startled.

She examined the dried-up leather straps and metal pieces. “It appears to be old horse tackle.”

“What a terrific place to keep something like that.”

Though Tara silently agreed, she was annoyed by Josh’s wry tone. Equally annoying tingles shot through her as he brushed her arm, lifting the jumble from her hands.

“I doubt this has been used for thirty or forty years. It isn’t worth much now, but I’ll see if there’s anything that can be salvaged.”

She hesitated. The relationship between grandfather and grandson was obviously complicated, and they were putting her in the middle; she was starting to feel like a bone being growled over by two dogs. “I’ll discuss it with Walt,” she told him firmly.

Josh’s jaw tensed in a way that was rapidly growing familiar; he and his grandfather both seemed to have the same ticking muscle on their jawlines.

“Ms. Livingston, as I told you before, I own the Boxing N. My grandfather deeded it to me several months ago.”

“How soon after he got out of the hospital?”

Josh flinched. “The week after he got out of the rehab center, not that it’s any of your concern. He contacted his lawyer without telling anyone in the family what he was doing. Apparently he’s had the documents ready since my college graduation.”

“And now you’re determined to show him who’s in command.”

“That’s ridiculous, but a ranch has to have one boss, and Grandpa has made me legally responsible for everything that goes on here. I’ve got cowhands quitting because he keeps interfering, yet he no longer has the physical strength to do what needs to be done.”

It was a reasonable explanation, especially the part about being legally responsible, but Tara still sympathized with Walt. He’d spent a lifetime running the Boxing N, and giving up control must be difficult.

“At the risk of repeating myself, Walt hired me, not you,” she said evenly.

“And, as I said earlier, I’d like to hire you, as well. If you’re organizing the records anyway, it makes sense to do the computer work at the same time. Right?”

“I don’t care if it makes sense,” she declared. “What I do here is up to Walt, and he doesn’t want that. Would it hurt you to wait? Or are you trying to force equipment on him that he’s never used, hoping to push him out of the way?”

“You don’t know anything about it. Whether you like it or not, I’m having a computer delivered this week, along with a scanner and the other equipment needed to move this ranch into the twenty-first century.”

“Fine, but my using it depends upon Walt, so that equipment may not get a workout until you hire an office manager and shuffle him into an old folks’ home.”

“I’m not trying to shuffle him anywhere,” Josh hissed. “It isn’t any of your business, but for your information, I’m trying to give him some dignity and still keep this place running.”