A Father's Stake. Mary Anne Wilson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ she said over the low hum of the engine and air conditioner. She imagined the weeds gone, the fences up and painted white, surrounding green fields, the front pillars hung with iron gates. A huge tumbleweed bounced over the drive in front of her, curiously lifting at the last moment to sail over the broken fence and into the pasture.

      Stacks of piping were arranged on either side of the broken fence, tangled with weeds. She had water rights. Her papers stated that, and if there was water, green grass would follow. Her heart was starting to beat faster, excitement pushing out other conflicting emotions.

      She was near the top of the hill when she spotted a building off to the right. It was long and low, tumbleweeds piled randomly along its foundation. A stable, she thought, some of its many doors boarded shut. Then as the car crested the hill, she saw her house.

      Without realizing what she was doing, she again stopped dead on the drive. As the air conditioning blew a cool breeze over her skin, she just sat there trying to take everything in. The backdrop of the clear sky above, streaked with pale colors from the west, trees to both sides, maybe thirty feet from the house that was much larger than she’d even dared to hope for. Low and sprawling, it was built of adobe and heavy dark wood, making it seem part of the surrounding land. A porch ran end to end along the front, shading windows that reflected back the view to the south. A massive rock chimney rose through the central ridge of the deep red and brown tiled roof.

      She could see how much work the place needed, from the dried wood of the porch posts to the faded trim and weeds, but to her it looked incredible. The colors from the sinking sun were deepening gradually, the rays bathing the house in an almost ethereal light. Long shadows were gradually creeping toward a stand of huge cottonwoods nearby.

      She rolled down her window to stillness, the air carrying a gentler heat now, and from out of nowhere, a sense of peace touched her. Until a voice by her open window set her heart hammering.

      “Hello, there.”

      She turned to see a tall man staring down at her. He had to be over six feet, darkly tanned, with high cheekbones set in a face that seemed all angles and shadows under a baseball cap. She tensed as he gripped the window frame with a strong hand and leaned down toward her. The glint of a gold wedding band flashed as it caught a glimmer of sun.

      “What...what are you doing?” she gasped.

      He immediately drew back, his large hand held up, palm toward her. “Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”

      She hadn’t even sensed movement before he had suddenly appeared. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, she looked away from him. “Well, I didn’t,” she muttered.

      If a man had approached her car like that in L.A., she would have felt threatened, but she figured this man must be working here in some capacity. The attorney had said he’d made sure the place would be ready for her when she arrived.

      He didn’t come closer, but didn’t leave, either. “Are you parking the car?” he asked.

      Without a verbal response, she did just that, going slowly to the front of the house and parking beside a small stone pillar by the pathway to the porch. She wasn’t sure if she should get out of the car or stay put.

      She watched the stranger in the rearview mirror slowly coming toward her. Dusty jeans on long legs, equally dusty cowboy boots and a chambray shirt open at the neck made him look all cowboy, except for the dark baseball cap. Jet-black hair was straight and long enough to touch the collar of the shirt. The shadow of a new beard darkened a strong jaw.

      Before she could make a move, he was at the window again, bending down. This time she got a better look at him. Midnight dark eyes were deep set, studying her intently. Rough features and high cheekbones gave him a handsome look in her opinion. Then he smiled at her, flashing a single deep dimple to the right of his mouth. Something in her relaxed.

      “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said in a deep, slightly roughened voice. “I was just waiting for you to get here.”

      He had to be a worker, waiting for her arrival. She reached for the door handle and the man stepped back to let her get out. “I was told you would be here,” she started to say, then glanced toward the barn, stunned to silence. A red Jeep was parked by the big doors. The same Jeep that had sped past her on the highway.

      “That was you on the road, wasn’t it?” she managed to get out, spinning around to confront him. “You could have killed us both!”

      * * *

      JACK WAS STUNNED as he faced the tiny blonde in beige shorts that revealed remarkably long legs for someone who barely topped five feet.

       “You could have killed us both!”

      She was right. He could have killed them. He’d been acting crazy. But the accusation tore at him, and he felt cold in his soul. Robyn’s accident had made no sense, and the only explanation had been that she was going too fast. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to get control. The shaking was there, deep inside, but he held it at bay and concentrated on the woman in front of him.

      Willie G. had called him maybe fifteen minutes ago at the office. “Heads up, boy, there’s a lady coming your way, name’s Grace, a little, cute blonde, and she claims she owns your Grandpa’s ranch. She just left here.”

      Jack had run out of the office, calling to his assistant, Maureen, “Check on the records for the land as quickly as you can!” She would understand immediately that “the land” was the Wolf Ranch.

      Jack really didn’t remember most of the drive to the old ranch, except for the car that he’d impatiently gunned past. Just before he’d driven through the gate, Maureen had called to tell him the property had changed hands in August, deeded from Charles Michaels to a Grace Anne Evans. She couldn’t find any money trail.

      Now he was looking at Grace Anne Evans, and when he could finally speak around the tightness in his throat, he said, “I was in a hurry.” And he’d been stupid and totally taken off balance, he should have added. All these weeks he’d planned to deal with a man, someone he’d researched and knew very well on paper. Now he was facing a stranger, maybe midtwenties, with a few freckles dusted across her small, straight nose. And those eyes. He actually wondered if that violet color came from her DNA or tinted contacts.

      She lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the slowly sinking sun behind him. “How long have you been here?” she asked.”

      “Just a few minutes before you drove up.”

      “No, I mean, here, on the ranch?”

      He shook his head. “When?”

      Now she was looking confused. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be getting everything ready for me, aren’t you?”

      “Sorry, no.” Why did he keep telling her he was sorry?

      “Then why are you here?” she asked, trying to stand taller, but failing.

      “I told you, waiting for you, as long as you’re Grace Evans.”

      She shook her head, as if nothing was making sense to her at that moment. “I don’t have a clue who you are, if you’re not a handyman or a caretaker.”

      “Sorry,” he said, inwardly cringing at that word again. СКАЧАТЬ