Three river ranch, p.3
Three River Ranch, page 3
In finding Stormy, Carson had a chance to build up a true mustang band and study them as they’d never been studied before, in a controlled, protected—yet still wild—environment.
How ironic that he, a rancher’s son, had to scrape and scheme to house a few horses. Worse yet, just when he’d figured out how to do it, a monkey wrench falls into his plans.
A monkey wrench with a luscious mouth.
Maybe Jonah was right. If he couldn’t get rid of the woman, perhaps he could use her for his own ends. He could at least ask. What did he have to lose, after all?
“Besides my mind,” he muttered. “I must be crazy.”
But now that he’d begun thinking about it, he couldn’t let the idea go. How much money would it take to make a rational woman consider a sham marriage? Then again, she’d taken the house sight unseen, probably only weeks away from having her kid. How rational was that? He’d have more than enough money to buy her off, once he’d fulfilled his father’s requirements. A bit of mutual back-scratching so she could secure her child’s future and he could get hold of the ranch.
Simple.
“Get a grip, Granger,” he told himself.
He needed to get some sleep, before he did something truly stupid.
Carson went outside to check on the mares one last time before bed. The moon threw a soft light over the corral, but the pregnant one wasn’t immediately visible. Fear rose in his throat.
“Stormy?”
It had taken a combination of sedatives, wrestling skills, and trickery to get her into the trailer, an event Carson knew had badly damaged the fragile trust they’d developed. He hoped the foal hadn’t been harmed, but whatever the risk, it was less than leaving them to almost certain death.
“Where are you, girl?”
A rustle in the darkness at the farthest reach of the paddock revealed her presence, huddled behind the others. She stood fully awake, pressed against the poles, her dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Even from this distance, he could see the muscles in her flank quivering, hear her quick, anxious snorts.
This kind of stress was deadly.
Maybe she’d settle down overnight. Hopefully. And Carson would turn his plans into reality, without falling in with his father’s scheme.
…
That, reflected Rory the next morning, was the most embarrassing day of my life thus far. If she thought there was any possibility of a worse one in the offing, she might as well throw herself back into the house and let it kill her outright. She resisted the urge to call Des; her friend would first commiserate, then try to convince her to return, and Rory didn’t know if she was strong enough to hold firm to her decision. She missed Des, but Billings wasn’t home anymore; humiliation lurked around every corner, in every sympathetic glance.
Not that she had a choice. She’d quit her job. She’d sold her half of their house to David, who was probably sharing it with his new girlfriend by now.
She winced, both at the memory of her day and at her sore muscles. Despite falling asleep the moment she hit the sheets, she was still exhausted. Her skin didn’t feel so hot, either, where the plaster had welded itself to her flesh. A long, sudsy shower had gotten most of it off, but she’d be finding bits and pieces for days.
At least the room was comfortable. Blythe’s B&B was dog-friendly, and well-furnished with a firm mattress and thick, sweet-smelling bedding. She and Mistral had slept like logs.
An even fresher wave of embarrassment washed over her when she remembered how Carson had brushed the plaster dust off her back, then gestured to her gaping chest.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, pulling a pillow over her face. At least she’d worn a bra. Look on the bright side, she told herself.
Mistral sat at the door and whined, reminding Rory that she didn’t have the luxury of wallowing. She had little enough time to get settled as it was. She shouldn’t have waited so long to leave Billings, but she kept expecting that David would come around and realize he still loved her and that he wanted their baby as much as she did.
You didn’t leave David. He left you.
It was all so ugly, but it was what it was. Nothing to do but move forward. Rory limped into the bathroom, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and faced the mirror.
She looked like a boiled cat. Not exactly the impression she wanted to make with the handsome cowboy. Not that I care what he thinks, she told her reflection. He was nothing but a problem to solve. She was going to get this sorted out, one way or another. Carson had to understand that she was here to stay.
Rory flipped open her cell phone and dialed Fulston Realty. That woman had some explaining to do.
“The owner was surprised to see me—” Rory began, building a head of steam as she spoke.
“Carson?” Mrs. Fulston interrupted, her voice rising indignantly. “He doesn’t hold the title yet.”
“You might have mentioned it,” Rory said, battling her temper with effort. “He wants the guesthouse for himself and has no intention of letting me stay. Surely you’ve got something else for me?”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Fulston, “you signed on the dotted line. The check has been deposited. I warned you about deciding without looking it over.”
“You did not! In fact, you assured me it was the perfect place for me!”
“I told you it met your requirements,” Mrs. Fulston corrected calmly. “If you’re unsatisfied, take it up with the Grangers’ lawyer. Jonah Clarke, of Kensington, Clarke, and Gordon. They’re in the book.”
The connection ended with a click. Rory stared at the phone in disbelief. Then she took a deep breath. She should have known better. She’d acted hastily, hoping for the best, and this was what she got. Fine. The sooner Carson accepted that the guesthouse was hers, the better. She rubbed one hand on her belly and felt a reassuring roll. This is the priority, she reminded herself.
When she made her way downstairs, after taking care of Mistral, Rory followed her nose to the dining room, where Blythe had the breakfast buffet laid out.
“There you are!” She greeted Rory warmly, wiping her hands on her apron and bustling forward to take her by the arm. There was an air of competency about her buxom figure; even her iron-gray hair was efficient, short and permed into submission. “Did you sleep well? You look much better today than you did last night, I’ll say that for you. Come on over here and set yourself down; that’s right. Let me get you some food. Sausage or bacon? Never mind, I’ll fix you a plate. You look like you could use a good meal; I hope you’re not on some weird diet. In my kitchen, we make good old-fashioned food. Last week I had a couple of women ask me for yam and seaweed. I ask you, what kind of person comes to a B and B in Montana looking for seaweed?”
Rory sat helplessly at the table Blythe led her to. She sniffed the air—it did smell good.
“You sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
As good as her word, Blythe returned, bearing in one hand a plate stacked with pancakes, mixed berry compote, scrambled eggs, and the promised sausages and bacon. A thick pillow was wedged beneath the other elbow, along with an ice pack.
“Whew, that’ll burn the fat off the old lady arms,” she said, rubbing her triceps. “But you know the drill. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”
“But how did—” began Rory.
“A blind woman could have seen that limp.” Blythe gave her a pitying look. “Melissa!”
The abrupt bellow startled Rory.
“Sorry,” Blythe said with a smile. “My daughter. She’s coming with your coffee. Decaf, of course. Unless you’d prefer herbal tea? How far along are you? Six months?”
“Seven.” Despite the heat rushing to her cheeks, Rory found the woman’s frank interest comforting, as if she felt pregnancy was something special, rather than an embarrassment.
“Seven months gone.” Blythe’s eyes goggled. “You’re a rake, child. Stand up. Let me look at you.”
Rory stood and brushed smooth the long draping T-shirt she wore over her leggings, pulling it taut to reveal the roundness beneath. “I’m not that thin. See?”
Blythe frowned and tsk-ed as she looked Rory up and down. Then she sighed deeply, sat down opposite, and gestured for Rory to take her seat again. “I can see that you need looking after.” She pursed her lips. “Melissa, get your butt in here with that decaf!”
A teenage girl slumped out of the kitchen, a murderous expression on her heavily made-up face. Earrings ran up the entire side of one ear.
“Cream and sugar,” the girl snarled at them, plunking the containers onto the table. She splashed coffee more or less into two cups, then stood back expectantly, one hand on a hip.
“Melissa,” said her mother calmly. “Waitresses don’t get tips until the customers have finished their meals. And only if they’re satisfied with the service, honey.”
The girl huffed loudly and turned on her heel. “Stupid job,” she muttered as she stomped back into the kitchen.
Rory eyed her coffee doubtfully.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Blythe said, lifting her own cup to her lips. “Melissa’s the devil’s own spawn but she makes a good cup of coffee.”
“I heard that!” called a faint voice from the kitchen.
“An okay cup of coffee, I meant,” Blythe hollered back, grinning at Rory. Her nose wrinkled up when she smiled. She leaned forward confidentially. “Can’t let them get too full of themselves, you know. But you’ve got a few years before you have to worry about that.”
“Right,” said Rory faintly. She and her mother hadn’t been close in years; they’d certainly never talked to each other like this.
“Anything else you need, sweetheart?”
Rory hesitated. In small towns, everyone knew everyone else’s business. She wasn’t ready for everyone to know hers just yet, but she needed to know more about the situation in which she found herself. Besides, Blythe seemed like the kind of person who knew everything about everyone—and could be trusted with the information.
“Did you know the Granger family? Of Three River Ranch?”
Blythe let out a bark of laughter.
“The Grangers? Oh honey, everyone knew the Grangers. What about them?”
“I rented the Granger house. Only someone didn’t tell Carson.”
“Carson hasn’t been here for years.” Blythe’s eyes widened. “You mean he’s back?”
“He was there last night,” Rory answered, feeling less and less secure. “He certainly wasn’t expecting me, though.”
Blythe looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if it’s worth fighting him; all I saw was some ramshackle, falling-down lodge, and I can’t live there. But he’s got an assistant coming to stay in the guesthouse, so that’s out, too.”
“Balderdash,” she said impatiently. “Except for the housekeeper, the Granger men can’t keep help. That’s why the ranch started going downhill in the first place. Horrible bosses.”
“Who’s the housekeeper?”
Blythe looked at her sharply over her glasses. “Bliss, my twin sister. My blister. They deserved each other. And she left when the old man died, so I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that Carson’s bluffing. Which means the guesthouse is yours, only he doesn’t want to admit it yet.”
“I hope so.” Rory felt a bubble of warmth at the pleasure in Blythe’s voice. “I’m having the baby at Becker Birthing Center and I don’t have time to look for another place now. Looks like I’ll have to get used to being around horses. What’s with you and your sister?”
Blythe snorted. “Old habits. We’ve been kicking each other since before we were born.” She reached up a worn finger and touched Rory’s cheek. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you’re staying, honey. The Grangers could use a little changeup of fortune. You might be just what the doctor ordered.”
“Do you have time to tell me a bit more about them?” Rory glanced around the dining room. The only other visitor had nearly finished his breakfast and was currently arguing with Melissa about something.
Blythe waved her hand dismissively. “That one can do his own dishes, if it comes to that. This is far more interesting. So what can I tell you about the Grangers? Derek always talked about selling that old pile, but we thought it was an empty threat. Then he died, and the whole ranch kind of got put on hold.”
“Yeah,” Rory said glumly. “Fate was waiting for me, I guess.”
“Don’t you joke about that. Things happen for a reason, and the stranger the thing, the bigger the reason.” Blythe laughed, and her prominent bosom heaved.
There’d better be one humdinger of a reason, thought Rory.
“Three River was the prettiest place around,” continued Blythe, “when Marie was alive.”
“Marie?”
The older woman played with the handle of her mug. “Derek’s wife. She died when the boys were, oh, not even in high school yet. Terrible thing. Cancer. It hurt them all in ways that changed them forever. Derek wasn’t what you’d call warm to begin with. After Marie died, he got even colder. Those poor boys never had a chance.”
“So Carson has a brother?”
“Mitchell.” Blythe nodded, a faraway look on her face. “Two of the most beautiful boys I’d ever seen, but all their sweetness got packaged away when their mama died. We’ve missed them, but those boys needed to make their peace with the past. And now Carson’s home! I hope he can properly mourn that father of his. Derek never made things easy for him.”
“All he mentioned,” said Rory, “was his plans for a horse sanctuary or something.”
“Horses,” Blythe said. “Wouldn’t notice if his own hair was on fire, but he’d do anything for those mustangs. Heart of gold, that boy.”
Rory looked at Blythe, wondering if she could get an honest character reference from someone so obviously biased. Then again, what were her options?
“He showed me,” she ventured. “One of them is pregnant. She was pretty freaked out.”
“He let you near his wildies?” Blythe evaluated Rory through narrowed eyes.
“Yeah.” Rory frowned. “We put them into the corral.”
“We?” This time, Blythe’s voice was laced with incredulity.
“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”
“Oh, honey.” Blythe stood up, put her hands on her hips, and gave Rory a sympathetic smile. “Carson doesn’t let anyone see his mustangs. He always says as soon as they become a tourist attraction, they’re dead.”
“Oh, it wasn’t like that,” said Rory. “I stood beside the trailer. That’s all.”
Blythe just patted Rory’s shoulder and walked back to the kitchen. What was that all about?
Shrugging, Rory applied herself to the steaming plate before her. When she was finished, she and Mistral would drive back to the ranch, and then she would get settled into the guesthouse, no matter what Carson said. That place was now her home, and she had to make the best of it. She wasn’t about to let some tree-hugger in cowboy boots ruin her plans.
Chapter Five
Carson plunked the canvas pack onto a patch of ground sheltered beneath a large oak. Until he fixed up the old house and evicted the rats, he’d live in his tent. An unbidden memory of camping out with Mitch popped into his head, but he pushed it away.
He sighed. He’d prefer a roof over his head and a proper bed, but unless he wanted to share the guesthouse with Aurora McAllister, he had no choice.
Where was the woman, anyway? They’d agreed to meet this morning, and where he came from, noon wasn’t morning anymore. If she insisted on holding him to the stupid agreement, she could at least show up at a decent hour. The marriage plan Jonah had hinted at was ridiculous, but he’d realized that the clerical job could work. Hopefully, she could at least tackle the mountain of filing he’d been ignoring. Grant committees loved forms. He didn’t want her damned dog barking every time he moved a finger, though. Stormy didn’t need that kind of stress and neither did he.
He ignored the fact that Stormy hadn’t appeared the least bit stressed by either the dog or the woman. That the woman, in fact—inexplicably—appealed not only to the horse but to him. It couldn’t possibly be those wide eyes or that chain-saw haircut or the ripe curves she was trying unsuccessfully to hide beneath those god-awful clothes.
Carson knew why. It was her connection to Stormy. Maybe her own pregnancy clued her in to the mare’s condition.
A crunch of gravel announced Rory’s arrival.
He strode through the dust and pulled open her door. “Good morning,” he said as the dog scrambled clumsily across her lap to land at his feet in a panting, dreadlocked pile.
“Good morning to you, too.” She smiled sweetly, ignoring his tone, and stepped past him, a faint breath of citrus following in her wake. “I’m ready to move in.”
“Looks like I don’t have a choice,” he said. “I hope you were a secretary in another life.”
“Nope. Why?”
“Here’s the deal.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He hated feeling coerced. “I need an assistant. You need a place to live. We can help each other out. At least until…” He gestured vaguely toward her midsection.
For a moment she looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then suddenly her eyes widened. “I don’t know horses. This is crazy. I don’t have to agree to any of this.”
“Maybe not,” said Carson, playing his ace. “But if you don’t, you’re stuck with a roommate. Me. Work for me, even a couple hours a day, and I’ll find myself other accommodations. You stay for free.”
Her jaw sagged and he could see her running calculations in her head. It was as much a gamble for her as it was for him.
He just hoped they wouldn’t end up killing each other.
He wondered then about the baby’s father. Surely there was a man around, somewhere. Carson found his gaze sliding down the length of her body. If the rest of her was as toned as her legs, and her firm rear—
“What kind of work are you talking about?”
