A Rancher's Vow. Patricia Rosemoor

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      He hesitated, mulled over the advisability of the notion that struck him, and in the end, headed for her table.

      Listening to Reba Gantry, the flamboyant owner of Reba’s Café, who was waving around a half-empty whiskey glass—she could drink nearly as much as a man and often did—Alcina didn’t even notice his approach until he asked, “Mind if I join you?”

      She started, her gray eyes widening on him for a moment. Recovering quickly, she indicated the empty chair. “It’s your spread.”

      “Only by default.” He set down his plate and mug and slid into the vacant seat, where he got a better look at her finery. “You cleaned up real nice, but it looks like Hope ruined your party dress for good.”

      She shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world.”

      “Some women would think so.”

      “Good thing I’m not some women.”

      Good thing, Reed agreed, digging into Felice’s homemade enchilada, Alcina interesting him even more than before. He realized how little he knew about her even though they’d grown up in the same town. Then, he hadn’t been interested in an older woman—to a teenage boy, three years difference in age had been a whole generation. Now three years was nothing.

      “We missed you at the church,” Reba said, taking a swig of whiskey and holding it in her mouth for a moment.

      “Something came up,” he said vaguely, swallowing a mouthful of posole. “Mighty fine duds there.”

      He admired the café owner’s ability to pull off wearing such an eye-popping rose-trimmed purple dress. Then, as he remembered, Reba had always had a natural flair for the dramatic.

      “You’re looking fine yourself, honey,” Reba said. “It’s real good to see you again.” She indicated the big man who sat next to her. “I’d like to introduce you to my dear friend, Cesar Cardona.”

      “Howdy,” Reed said.

      Cardona looked to be in his late forties, a quantity of silver lightening his thick dark hair and full mustache. Wearing a black suit, the short jacket trimmed with silver braid and silver and turquoise conchos, he was definitely Reba’s male counterpart, Reed thought with amusement.

      But Reed’s enjoyment faded when the café owner said, “Cesar is bringing new life and jobs to the area around Silver Springs. He’s a land developer—”

      “Let me guess,” Reed cut in, giving the newcomer a piercing stare. “Land of Enchantment Acres.”

      Cardona’s teeth flashed white against his sun-warmed skin. “So you’ve heard of us.” The meatiness of the hand he reached across the table was softened by a heavily jeweled watchband.

      Taking it, though reluctantly, Reed realized the raw power of the big man. “Saw the sign driving in. I can hardly believe Gonzalez sold. His family owned that land for nearly two hundred years.”

      “That land kept Luis Gonzalez poor.”

      “I guess it depends on your definition of poor,” Reed argued. “Being land-rich in God’s country in this part of New Mexico goes a long way to making up for the things a man can’t afford to buy himself.”

      Cardona shrugged and spread his hands. “Well, now Luis can buy whatever he wants.”

      “I wonder what that might be,” Reed muttered, stabbing his fork into the mashed potatoes.

      While Gonzalez’s spread had been small—little more than four thousand acres—ranching was the only life the man had ever known and he was barely fifty. What would he do with his days for the next twenty years? Reed himself couldn’t imagine working at anything but ranching, which occupied his whole being. When he got busy, he might not even get into town for weeks and never once miss it.

      As if she sensed his rising tension over the matter, Alcina veered the discussion in a slightly different direction. “Are the new properties selling well, Cesar?”

      “Like hotcakes,” the developer said, grinning. ‘I can’t get the houses built fast enough.”

      Suddenly losing his appetite, Reed asked, “So we’re in for how many new people in the area?”

      “I sold off nearly half the acreage to the VM Ranch, so there’ll only be about twenty new families—people who have always wanted a real piece of the West for themselves. I’m not raping the land if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m keeping properties at a minimum of a hundred acres.”

      “Sounds sensible,” Alcina said. “And good for Silver Springs.”

      Gut tightening, Reed didn’t say anything.

      Luis Gonzalez would never have sold an acre to Vernon Martell, a virtual newcomer to Silver Springs. The Hispanic ranchers in the area were tight-knit and didn’t sell their land to Anglos. Martell had gotten around that through Cardona, whose only loyalty obviously was to the almighty dollar.

      “Actually, I’m already looking around for another spread,” Cardona went on. “Got to plan ahead.”

      Reed didn’t like the way the man was looking around at the Curly-Q, as if he was already viewing it as a commodity and planning on subdividing it next.

      “The Curly-Q’s not for sale,” he said quietly but firmly. “So don’t go getting any ideas about this place.”

      Reed was dead serious, but Cardona laughed.

      “Everything’s for sale, my friend. You merely gotta figure out the right incentive to get what you want.”

      As far as Reed was concerned, that ended the conversation.

      Reba put a beringed hand on her escort’s shoulder. “Cesar, honey, I sure am in the mood for a dance.”

      Cardona immediately got to his feet and helped her out of her chair. “I’d never say no to holding you in my arms.”

      Reba swayed a little as if the drinking had caught up to her. Then she shook herself straight and headed for the dance floor.

      They’d barely left the table when Alcina spoke up, her tone indignant. “I’m surprised at you, Reed Quarrels. You never used to be so rude!”

      Chapter Two

      Startled, Reed stared at Alcina. “What’s rude about speaking my mind?”

      It was something he usually avoided. He didn’t know what had gotten into him.

      Yes, he did, Reed admitted.

      Truth be told, his whole way of life was being threatened by men like Cardona. Ranches all over the West were being sold off and carved up into smaller properties. Peoples’ lifelong dreams were being stolen away from them, and with the economy so poor for those that lived off the land, there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it.

      A man practically had to СКАЧАТЬ