An Ideal Father. Elaine Grant

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СКАЧАТЬ else wanted the place. In fact, he’d never mentioned a sister at all. He’d acted like the house was his, free and clear.

      “It’s not that easy.”

      “Why?”

      “Couple of reasons. For one thing, did it occur to you I might not want to negate the deal? I’ve got plans for this house.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “What plans? Who are you anyway, and how do you know my brother? Why do you want my house?”

      “Cimarron Cole. I met your brother last year in New Orleans and he told me about the house. I had a friend check the place out, and I made an offer. Bobby turned me down back then, but he called a few weeks ago to see if I was still interested. It seemed like a good investment…at the time.”

      “How could he do this to me?” Bewilderment clouded her face for a moment, then she clenched her jaw and straightened her back. “And how did somebody check out my house without my permission?”

      “Don’t guess he realized he needed permission. Bobby said the house was his, which I get the feeling is the truth. Maybe you were busy in the café and didn’t notice. I doubt he’d have been here long.”

      “It doesn’t matter, Bobby and I had a verbal agreement and I want my house back. Just let me find him and make him return your money.”

      “Good luck,” he said with a smirk.

      “What do you mean by that?”

      Cimarron gently disengaged Wyatt from his leg. “Go over there and play,” he said. Wyatt hesitated, still leery of the stranger. “Go, I said.” Cimarron gave the boy a slight push and Wyatt reluctantly crossed the floor to sit on the edge of the hearth, ready to bolt back at a moment’s notice.

      Cimarron leaned against the window frame and crossed his arms. “The last time I saw your brother, the taillights of his brand-new Coachman RV were disappearing around the bend, and his new showgirl-turned-bride was waving her bejeweled hand out the window. I doubt the ink was dry on the sales contract.”

      “What? He got married? Again?” Her exasperated voice rose to a squeak. “A Coachman? Isn’t that the big…”

      Cimarron nodded. “Yep. About a hundred thousand dollars big. And the wedding rings were probably another fifteen grand.”

      He thought the woman was going to faint for sure this time. Her hand flew to her throat and her mouth fell open. “How much did you pay?”

      “A hell of a lot more than I would have if I’d known the real situation. But the fact is, Bobby’s already run through most of it and I don’t think you’re going to be seeing him for a while.”

      She sank to the windowsill. “I don’t have that kind of money,” she whispered.

      “I don’t want your money anyway. I want the house. Bobby never mentioned your interest in it.”

      “He’s such a rotten brother,” she said.

      Cimarron agreed, but held his tongue.

      “This property has been in our family for generations. Bobby promised he’d sell his part to me.”

      “I believe dear Bobby went for the bucks, not family loyalty. If I hadn’t bought it, his plan was to move on to the next bidder.”

      She surprised him by muttering, “The little shit.” Then she looked up with bold determination. “I’ll get the money to buy it back. I’ll get a loan.”

      “No bank’s going to loan you the amount I paid for this house. Not the way it looks right now.”

      “I thought you said it was in good enough shape.”

      “It is, but not to the casual eye.”

      “I’ll get an appraiser.”

      “It won’t appraise for what I intend to sell it for. Besides, you’d spend the rest of your life paying back that kind of loan, even with a bed-and-breakfast.”

      “I don’t care.” She faced him squarely, her eyes glinting fire. “You’re not going to get it. I’ll sue you.”

      “For what? It’s a binding bill of sale. We’ll be tied up in legal red tape for years. Can you afford that expense?”

      “That’s my business.”

      “Okay. But it’ll be a waste of time and money for both of us.”

      “It’s not fair!”

      Cimarron didn’t like the heaviness that had settled in his midsection. He hadn’t anticipated this stumbling block when he bought the old house, but he was pretty sure Sarah James couldn’t buy the place back at his price and he wasn’t about to lose money on the deal. “It’s life. And I won’t lose.”

      “We’ll see about that,” she retorted and stalked over to the door. She turned back in the entryway. “You and your son can leave now. I’m locking the door.”

      “Fine,” Cimarron said and motioned to Wyatt, who came to heel like a puppy and followed him outside. He didn’t mention the fact that Bobby had given him a set of keys to the house. No need to provoke her more.

      At the truck, Wyatt slid into the backseat and Cimarron moved behind the wheel, then sat for a while with the door open, a boot propped on the dashboard, pondering his options. He’d never get any money back from Bobby. Sarah might risk everything she had to regain the house and Cimarron would have to add that guilt to the bundle that already weighed him down. Yet he couldn’t just throw his money to the wind. He’d intended to start work on this place right away, while he figured out what to do about Wyatt.

      He thought about Sarah working so hard in the café that morning and recalled that her griddle was broken. They would never work things out as enemies. If he had to make a conciliatory move, so be it. He was a businessman and every day of lost work meant lost money.

      Busy printing a lunch and dinner menu on the large chalkboard behind the counter, Sarah purposefully ignored Cimarron when he came into the café again. Without help and with only one side of her griddle working, she would be hardpressed to handle more than a few simple items today.

      To her advantage, Saturdays in Little Lobo were usually slow. Working people took off to Livingston or Bozeman to shop and restock groceries. Ranchers and farmers had to catch up while they could. Usually, after breakfast no more than a dozen folks stopped by the café on a given Saturday. She planned to serve cold sandwiches and a big pot of soup. Even without Aaron, she could manage that.

      Cimarron waited in silence for her to finish.

      She laid her colored chalk in the tray at the bottom of the board and turned to face him. “What do you want?”

      “Is your griddle working now?”

      “No.”

      “I could probably fix it for you.”

      “Jack-of-all-trades,” she said with an edge of sarcasm that could СКАЧАТЬ