Men to Trust: Boss Man / The Last Good Man in Texas / Lonetree Ranchers: Brant. Diana Palmer

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      Violet had a passing acquaintance with the employees who ran the lab, one of whom was a graduate biologist named Delene Crane, a young woman with a quirky sense of humor. They were nodding acquaintances, because she didn’t have much free time to socialize. None of the staff did, for that matter. Routine at the ranch was chaotic because spring was the busiest time for everyone, with calves being born and recorded and branding in full swing.

      She knew that Duke used not only hot branding, but also had computer chips on plastic tags that dangled from the ears of his cattle. These chips contained the complete history of each cow or bull. The information was scanned into a handheld computer and sent by modem to Violet’s computer to be compiled into the spreadsheet program.

      “It’s just fascinating,” Violet told Duke as she watched the information updating itself on her computer screen from minute to minute.

      He smiled wearily. He was dusty. His chaps and boots were dirty and blood-stained because he’d been helping with calving all day. His red shirt was wet all over. His hair, under his wide-brimmed Stetson, was dripping sweat. His leather gloves, tight-fitting and suede-colored, were dangling from the wide belt buckle at his lean waist over his jeans.

      “It’s taken a lot of work to get this operation so far,” he confessed, his eyes on the screen as he spoke, his voice deep and pleasant in the quiet office. “And a lot of cash. I’ve been in the hole for the past year. But I’m just beginning to show a profit. I think the pork operation may be what finally gets me in the black.”

      “Where are the pigs kept?” she wondered aloud, because she’d only seen cattle and horses so far. In addition to the cattle herd, Duke maintained a small herd of purebred Appa-loosa horses.

      “Far enough away that they aren’t easy to smell,” he replied with a grin. “They have their own complex about a mile down the road. It’s remarkably clean, and purely organic. They have pastures to roam and a stream that runs through it all the year, and they’re fed a carefully formulated organic diet. No pesticides, no hormones, no antibiotics unless they’re absolutely necessary.”

      “You sound like the Harts and the Tremaynes and…” she began.

      “…and Cy Parks and J. D. Langley,” he finished for her, chuckling. “They did give me the idea. It’s catching on. Christabel and Judd Dunn jumped on the wagon last year.”

      “It’s been very profitable for them, I hear,” Violet replied. “Mr. Kemp handles all the paperwork for the Harts and Cy Parks…” She bit her tongue as his face hardened and the smile faded. “Sorry, boss,” she said at once.

      He moved jerkily. “No harm done.”

      But she knew how he felt about Kemp. She opened a second window on the computer screen and diverted him with a question about another procedure.

      He explained the process to her and smiled. “You’re a diplomat, Violet. I’m glad you needed a job.”

      “Me, too, Mr. Wright,” she replied, smiling.

      He pulled his hat down over his eyes. “Well, I’ve played hooky as long as I can,” he said with a grimace. “I’ll get back to work before Lance comes in here and lassos me and drags me back out to the pasture. You go home at five regardless of the phone, okay?” he added. “I know you worry about your mother. You don’t need to do overtime.”

      “Thanks,” she said, and meant it. “It’s hard for her to be alone in the evening. She gets scared.”

      “I don’t doubt it. Oh, if you get a minute,” he added from the door, “call Calhoun Ballenger and tell him I’m sending him a donation for his campaign.”

      She grinned. “I’ll be happy to do that! I’m voting for him, too.”

      “Good for you.” He closed the door carefully behind him.

      Violet made the call, finished up her work, and left on time. She had to run by the post office on the way home to put Duke’s correspondence into the mail.

      As luck would have it, Kemp was in the lobby when she walked in the door, having just put a last-minute letter into the outgoing post.

      He stopped short when he saw her, his pale blue eyes narrow and accusing. She was keenly aware that her lipstick was long gone, that her hair was sticking out in comic angles from her once-neat braid, that one leg of her panty hose was laddered. She couldn’t run into him when she looked neat and pretty, she thought miserably. To top it all off, she was wearing white jeans that were too tight and a red overblouse with ruffles that made her look vaguely clownish. She ground her teeth as she glared back at him.

      “Mr. Kemp,” she said politely, and started to go around him.

      He stepped right into her path. “What’s Wright been doing to you?” he asked. “You look worn to the bone.”

      Her thin eyebrows arched as she registered genuine concern in that narrow gaze. She cleared her throat. “It’s roundup,” she replied.

      He nodded understanding. “The Harts are breaking out in hives already,” he mused, and almost smiled. “They’ve had some problems with their exports to Japan as well. I suppose the cattle business is wearing on the nerves.”

      She smiled shyly. “Everybody’s rushing to record all the pertinent information for every new calf, and there are a lot of them.”

      “He’s opened a meat shop here in town,” he remarked. “It sells organic hams and sausage and bacon.”

      “Yes. His employees run a Web site, too, so that he can sell his pork on the Internet.” She hesitated. Her heart was racing like mad and she felt her knees weakening just from the long, shared looks. She missed him so much. “How…how are Libby and Mabel?”

      “Missing you.” He made it sound as if she’d left him in a bind.

      She shifted to the other foot. If they’d been alone, she’d have had more to say about the accusing look he was giving her. But people were coming and going all around them. “Thank you. For the recommendation, I mean.”

      He shrugged. “I didn’t think Wright would take you on,” he said honestly. “It’s no secret that he hates having women around the ranch since the divorce.”

      “Delene Crane works with him,” she replied, curious. “She’s a woman.”

      “He’s known Delene since they were in college together,” he told her. “He doesn’t think of her as a woman.”

      Interesting, she mused, because Delene wasn’t a bad-looking woman. She had red hair and green eyes and a milky complexion with a few freckles. She froze out the cowboys who gave her flirting glances, though. She was also strictly business with Duke, so maybe it was true that he didn’t think of her as a romantic prospect. She wondered why Delene didn’t feel comfortable around men…

      “How’s your mother?” Kemp asked abruptly.

      She grimaced. “She does things they told her not to do,” she lamented. “Especially lifting heavy stuff. The doctors said that she still has a tendency toward clots, despite the blood thinners they give her. They didn’t say, but I know that once a person has one or two strokes, they’re almost predisposed СКАЧАТЬ