The Rancher's Prospect. Callie Endicott

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      “You have to have internet service here at the office,” she explained to Walt, “along with a computer, of course.”

      “Get whatever you need.”

      “All right.”

      He limped out, and Josh smiled blandly at Tara. “I already told you that, as the owner, I will make the arrangements for whatever is required here at the office.”

      “Certainly.” She returned his smile with one as carefully bland as his own.

      He’d always preferred women who were more easygoing, so why did this chilly cucumber make him so aware of her?

      “Why didn’t you want me to explain the internet to Walt?” she asked.

      “Because he’s an old-time cattleman and doesn’t understand.”

      “That doesn’t mean he can’t understand, provided the people around him don’t treat him as a senile old man. Or as a child, for that matter. He’s obviously still sharp.”

      “I’m not treating him that way.”

      “Ha.” She shrugged, and he glanced away, not wanting to watch the movement of the soft fabric of her blouse.

      “Incidentally,” he said, “you might find jeans and a T-shirt more practical on the Boxing N than silk.”

      “Thank you so much for the advice,” she returned with an edge of sarcasm. It was probably deserved; he didn’t have any business suggesting what sort of clothing she should wear.

      “Just leave the nonoffice items near the door,” he said. “I’ll get them out of your way later.”

      “If that’s what Walt wants me to do.”

      Seething with anger, Josh left. At least he was going to get the office and accounts computerized, but he wasn’t sure if he’d won or lost the latest skirmish. He didn’t even know if winning and losing was the point. If he won, then his grandfather lost. But if things didn’t get into shape soon, his reputation would suffer, and the ranch might be hard to keep going.

      Josh’s trust fund was generous, but he’d quietly used some of it to pay his grandparents’ medical bills not covered by insurance. There was also the question of gift taxes on the Boxing N, which he fully expected to pay instead of his grandfather. The remaining principal, while substantial, couldn’t support a failing proposition forever.

      * * *

      LAUREN MOVED FROM one patient to another as quickly as possible. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up behind schedule, and that wasn’t fair to Tara—her sister was cutting her first day at the Boxing N short so they could spend the afternoon together. They had planned to do it the previous Friday, but the other physician’s assistant had called, asking her to trade shifts because his wife was ill.

      Her nerves were on edge for fear that Carl might stop by again. It was ironic, because she’d enjoyed her date with him even more than the first ones. After dinner, they’d walked along the river while the sun dropped low in the sky and cast a rosy light over the landscape.

      When she’d described the setting to Tara, her sister had made a dry comment about Carl devising the ideal romantic moment, only to quickly apologize. They hadn’t discussed men that much, but Lauren suspected that neither of them had a stellar record.

      “I heard that you and Sheriff Stanfield went out this weekend,” Ethel Carter commented as Lauren took her blood pressure.

      The nurse had taken it earlier, but the first check was always high. Mrs. Carter got stressed when she walked into the clinic, a case of white-coat syndrome, as it was called. Some medical professionals discounted the condition, but Lauren was a believer.

      “Where did you hear that?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

      “Virginia was at the senior center exercise group this morning. Her daughter lives in Windy Bluffs and saw you at the Mexican restaurant. It’s nice that you’re still going out together.”

      Great. Gossip was the last thing Lauren needed. Emily had warned her when she’d moved to Schuyler that it was the most popular form of entertainment in town.

      “We’re friends,” Lauren said as though it didn’t matter very much. It was true. She and Carl were friends. “Are you taking your blood pressure medicine every day?”

      “Whenever I remember.”

      “It’s important to be consistent, okay? We can talk about ways to make that easier at your next appointment.”

      “Of course, dear. Did you and the sheriff have a nice evening together?”

      “La Bonita is a terrific restaurant, and their fresh salsa is fantastic. I’m going to take my sister there soon.”

      Ethel looked disappointed and might have tried probing further, but Lauren patted her shoulder and handed over several prescription refills.

      “Keep up the exercise,” she instructed. “It’s obviously doing you good.”

      Ethel’s face creased into a smile. “I only started because you kept urging me to try. I do feel better. The arthritis doesn’t hurt as much, and I have more energy.”

      “That’s wonderful.”

      Lauren went on to her next patient, hoping she wouldn’t have to field more questions about her and Carl Stanfield. It could get really old, really fast.

      * * *

      TARA SPENT THE remainder of the morning cleaning out the rest of the file cabinets and emptying cupboards of equipment that had nothing to do with office work. Most of it couldn’t have been used in decades, and she couldn’t even tell what some items were. She recognized spurs, of course, and rusted samples of barbed wire. The rest was pretty strange, reminiscent of medieval torture implements she’d seen in museums across Europe.

      She mentioned it when Walt came in and he chuckled. “The animals might have agreed. We’re a little more modern with our methods now, but I gotta admit that I still don’t enjoy branding time. If I’d ever found those sapphires in the mountains, I might have even given up on cattle ranching and stuck with horse breeding.”

      “Sapphires?” Tara exclaimed, her imagination stirring. “I didn’t know they had any in Montana.”

      “They do, and my grandpa used to say his dad once found some on the Boxing N. As a kid I searched plenty and finally gave up.”

      “A treasure hunt. Exciting.”

      “True. It was great fun.” The old man’s eyes gleamed with the memories.

      Walt had brought her more boxes, and when he’d left again she began filling them, taking digital photos of each item. If she could have identified everything with a name, she would have merely logged them, but this was the only way she knew how to keep track. Walt probably didn’t care, but in light of the contentious relationship he had with his grandson, she wanted to keep a record of everything СКАЧАТЬ