Rocky Mountain Cowboy. Tina Radcliffe

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       Chapter Three

      Rebecca leaned against her Honda. She checked her watch and then focused her gaze on the main road. Late was an understatement. Joe had been gone two hours. Her stomach growled, and she wondered what the day’s special was at Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery in downtown Paradise.

      Things with Joe had gone better than she expected. He wasn’t nearly as surly this morning as he’d been on Saturday at their unexpected reunion. She pushed away the worrisome thoughts that hovered nearby. This was going to work out. It had to.

      That was, if the team would show up. She pulled her cell from her pocket to call the OrthoBorne offices in Denver. When she looked up, a big white pickup truck, with rooftop bar lights and the logo of the Paradise Sheriff’s Department, appeared on the road to the ranch, moving to the arched entrance. Behind it was a black SUV, kicking up a cloud of dust on the gravel road.

      A police escort to the ranch?

      She hurried to the drive and met the sheriff’s vehicle as it pulled up.

      The uniformed officer unfolded his tall form and stepped out and placed a tan Stetson on his head. “I’m Sam Lawson.” He reached out to grasp her hand in a strong handshake. “You must be Rebecca Simpson.” His eyes were warm with welcome.

      “Yes. How did you know?”

      “Joe mentioned you.” He nodded toward the car pulling in behind his truck. “These folks say they’re from OrthoBorne Technology in Denver. Sound right to you?”

      “Yes. They’re Joe’s media team.”

      “I found them driving through town. After the third pass through, I decided to take pity on them. According to the driver, they were here an hour ago, at another gate, but couldn’t find the road.”

      “Thanks for bringing them here, Sheriff.”

      “Better not thank me. This crew is greener than the grass, and I’m feeling guilty for delivering them to the ranch. In fact, maybe you could not mention to Joe that I brought them.”

      She laughed.

      “Oh, sure, you’re laughing now, but you won’t be when you figure out that I’m right.” He waved as he left.

      A tall man in his midforties got out of the SUV. He shook his head and released a breath. “Gallagher Ranch, I hope.”

      “It is, and I’m Rebecca Simpson.”

      “Our liaison, right?”

      “Yes. I’m also doing the certification.”

      “Great. I’m Rod, photographer and videographer.” He stepped forward to offer a grin of relief, along with a brisk handshake.

      She took his hand while returning the smile.

      “Looks like we’re all in the family. OrthoBorne family, that is. Sorry we’re so late. The GPS on the rental went wacky once we hit the outskirts of town. We thought we were here once, but there was no road beyond the gate. For all I know, we were on another ranch somewhere around here.”

      “No worries,” Rebecca said. “The good news is after the first time, you won’t forget your way to the ranch. It’s pretty easy. There’s only one paved road in and out of Paradise. Take it until you come to the arched entrance.” She pointed to the wrought-iron archway with the large entwined letters G and R.

      “Easy. Yeah, that’s what I said until the third or fourth time we passed Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery, and I realized I was driving in circles.” He turned to the vehicle, giving a wave for the other occupants to join him. “I brought Julian, our intern, and Abigail, one of our staff copywriters.”

      “Mr. Gallagher didn’t mention three of you.”

      “Julian was a last-minute addition,” Rod said. “He’ll assist with shoots.”

      The front passenger door of the vehicle swung open, and a tall, thin, young man with long shaggy hair, a minuscule beard and wire-rim glasses rolled out. Earphones were propped on his head. When he glanced around, enthusiasm brightened his eyes. “Wow. This is great. I’ve never been west of the mountains.”

      The only female of the group came around the truck to assess the situation. With one hand, she shoved back her shoulder-length cascade of strawberry-blond hair and with the other she pushed an oversized black leather tote over her shoulder.

      “I knew we were in Paradise the minute I laid eyes on the good sheriff.” The woman smiled and stepped forward, offering a handshake in greeting. Her nails were short and unpolished, no-nonsense like the woman herself, who was dressed in tan khakis and a taupe sweater. “Abigail Warren. Call me Abi.”

      “Rebecca Simpson.”

      “Yes,” Abi said quietly. “I’ve read about you.”

      “Don’t believe everything you read,” Rebecca murmured in response.

      “Never. I’m a writer. I recognize fiction when I see it.”

      When Abi winked, Rebecca knew she’d found an ally.

      Overhead the sky rumbled. “Uh-oh.” Julian tugged the earphones from his head to listen closely. “Thunder? That can’t be good.”

      “Let’s move over to the horse barn. It’s the closest shelter.” Rebecca pointed to the large red building. “The log cabin to your left is Mr. Gallagher’s, and that two-story colonial on your right is the main house.”

      When the sky thundered again, the crew picked up their pace, following Rebecca. Along the way, their curious gazes took in the details of the Gallagher ranch, the barn, the fenced-in corral and the utility garage.

      “Is that a windmill?” Abi asked, pointing to the teetering, metal structure standing out in the distance.

      “It is.”

      “What do they use them for?” she asked.

      “They used to be utilized to bring water from the aquifers to the cattle. Most ranches use pump irrigation now.”

      “When will we meet our client?” Rod asked.

      “That depends on when he comes back from the pasture.”

      “Horses,” СКАЧАТЬ