Authors: Renee Simons
"Briefly," he replied, moving to his desk with his Stetson and glasses in hand.
"What happened?"
He seemed embarrassed. "They lost it." He reached into the center drawer and took out a manila folder. "You have to sign these."
"Shouldn't I have a lawyer?"
"You did.
My father.
He made sure these give you what you want."
"Is he still practicing?"
"He gave it up long ago, but he hasn't forgotten how the system works."
She examined the document. "Apparently not," she murmured.
Relief flooded through her. She'd have unimpeded use of the land for two years, an option for a third and an opportunity to petition for another extension after that should the land remain available.
Exactly the break I need
.
A shadow darkened Luc’s eyes.
"Your father was generous," Callie said. "I'm sorry you're not pleased about that."
His shoulders lifted and fell in the shrug she'd seen before and recognized as an elegant substitution for anger, frustration or resignation. "Like I said — things don't always work out the way we plan."
"And shortly after, someone sabotaged the scaffolding. I wonder what I should expect this time."
His eyes narrowed briefly. "Why expect anything?"
She mimicked his shrug. "Why indeed?" She took a pen from several in a cracked coffee cup and signed all three copies.
"Done."
Luc handed one back to her.
"For your records."
"Have you had any luck investigating the collapse?"
"Not so far."
She folded the papers and slipped them into her knapsack as she walked to the door. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
* * *
A visit from Mercedes Gunn did surprise her. The woman wore black as she had at the meeting. Callie wondered if she ever wore any other color, or if she affected a kind of uniform to intimidate others. And she did present an imposing picture: tall, spare, stern-visaged with an unsmiling mouth and those eerie, grey eyes that seemed to hint at a dark and angry nature.
"Please come in," Callie said. "I've no furniture to speak of, but you can join me at the bridge table for tea."
“I've come to talk business and we can do that out here on the porch."
Porch, my foot.
It's a veranda, lady
. Callie bristled silently in defense of her once proud house.
"Very well, Mrs. Gunn."
"You've obviously decided to go ahead with the restoration,” Mercedes Gunn said, “despite my feelings on the subject." Her resentment was obvious.
"I couldn't have done that without the Board's permission." Callie made a point of keeping her own tone of voice gentle, without rancor. "Yours was the only vote against."
"Be that as it may, I'm here to make an offer — one businesswoman to another — that will allow you to turn a quick profit on whatever you've invested so far. I'm not a wealthy woman, but I am prepared to offer you two hundred thousand dollars if you'll cease all work on the house, drop this insane idea and leave Blue Sky."
"The amount you've offered would barely compensate me for my investment to date.
If I were to leave.
But I'm not, Mrs. Gunn. I like it here. I'm determined to complete the restoration."
"Are you holding out for more money?" Mercedes' eyes narrowed with suspicion. Her jaw tightened as she seemed to struggle with her anger. "I could come up with another fifty thousand, but that's my top offer."
"Keep your money. I'm not interested."
"Who are you, Miss Patterson?"
"I beg your pardon?" Callie wrinkled her brow at the woman's abrupt change in direction.
Mercedes’ drill-sergeant posture stiffened even further. "You are a parvenu,” she said, “a newcomer, with no history here and, therefore, no right to come in and stake a claim where you don't belong and aren't wanted."
So Elvira hadn't told the woman who she was.
Apparently, neither had the sheriff.
Gram’s warning or not, Callie needed to go on the attack with this woman.
"You asked me who I am, Mrs. Gunn. Now I have a question for you. Do you remember Lucinda Everett?"
The woman's face turned ashen. Her thin lips clamped into a thin, bloodless line. "What about her?" Gunn's deep voice had gone hoarse.
Wow, Callie thought. Gram had never mentioned the woman, yet her name had rendered Mercedes Gunn nearly speechless. Exposed by the V of her silk blouse, a pulse pounded in the hollow at the base of her throat. Unduly fascinated by the woman's discomfort, Callie forced herself to speak.
"She was my grandmother."
"Was?" A strange light glittered briefly in Mercedes' eyes,
then
subsided, leaving her expression cold and hard as before.
"She passed away some months ago."
"And left you this house, I presume." Her voice had returned to normal.
"You presume correctly." Callie found herself admiring the woman's quick recovery from what had obviously been a shock. "And as for not being wanted, somebody wants me here," she said softly, "or I wouldn't have gotten permission to begin. If I don't belong at this moment, I will by the time the restoration is completed."
"If I were you, young woman, I wouldn't consider the restoration an accomplished fact,
un hecho consumado
." Mercedes Gunn stepped down into the street, turned and pointed her outstretched arm at Callie like some biblical prophet of doom. "As committed as you are to this project, others are equally committed to seeing you fail."
More amazed than angry, Callie watched the woman turn and stalk away. Inside, she put up water for coffee. While she waited for it to boil, she wondered whether revealing her identity had been foolhardy. She wrinkled her brow. Would her family's history in the town work against her? Was that why Elvira hadn't mentioned her connection to the house? Had she decided it was Callie's place to speak up?
And why had Luc kept silent?
To protect her?
Just because he disagreed with her didn't mean he would take any overt action against her. He was, after all, a lawman. But even more than that, he'd seemed uncomfortable at his parents' table, even a little saddened, by his need to oppose her plan.
And just maybe, Callie thought, maybe she was giving Luc Moreno more credit than he deserved. An image of his smile flashed before her mind's eye, sending her into confusion. Why the
need
to invest the enemy with an admirable quality like fairness or concern?
"Well, kiddo," she whispered. "You'd better be ready for anything."
Two nights later, dinner sizzled on the portable barbeque. A light breeze stirred the smoke rising from the bed of charcoal. She’d spent a productive day making notes for the advertising campaign, planning layouts and sketching mockups of possible ads. She enjoyed the peaceful moment.
As she turned a burger and vegetables, glass shattered somewhere behind her. She dashed to the front of the house; footsteps stomped across the veranda in the direction from which she'd just come.
"Not the French doors…." she wailed.
She shot straight back through the house, reaching the dining room as the first panes crashed to the floor. She stumbled past an undamaged door, brandishing a two-tined fork in one hand and long-stemmed tongs in the other. The vandal, in dark clothes and hooded jacket effectively hiding his features, crashed through the remaining door and vaulted the railing to the ground below.
Guided by the light shining from the kitchen window, Callie tossed the barbecue fork at his retreating back. It landed points down on his shoulder, eliciting a yowl of pain before bouncing away. She followed with the tongs, clipping him on the side of his head. The taut, vicious curse gave her some brief satisfaction but, out of ammunition, she could only watch in frustration as the man fled into the darkness.
He stumbled through the dry desert growth as weeds and grasses crackled beneath his feet. When his thrashing had faded into silence, she turned to assess the damage. Glistening shards littered the floor inside and out. In several panes, jagged remnants clung to the frames. Barely conscious of the tears streaming down her cheeks, she leaned a hip against the rail and folded her arms across her chest.
"I'm sorry, Grammy," she whispered. "I couldn't save them for you."
Fury drove her to whirl and call out, "You miserable coward. You tell Mercedes Gunn she won't drive me out."
At that moment, another set of footsteps pounded through the dining room and out onto the veranda. "Callie? Are you okay?"
Luc's voice startled her. Strange that he’d chosen just this moment to show up. She turned, giving him a narrow-eyed look. "What are you doing here?"
"I added this place to my nightly rounds."
Could she believe him? The culprit had, after all, run off in the opposite direction. Still, she found it hard to be gracious.
“Too bad you didn’t get here a little sooner. Five minutes might have made a difference." The disappointment clouding his eyes stung her. "I don't mean to be unappreciative. I'm glad you're here."
He smoothed back a lock of hair that clung to her cheek. His gentle touch carved another slice from her resolve to keep her distance.
"You’re right,” he said, “a few minutes sooner and I could have rounded up this guy and kept him away from you."
His hand lingered against the side of her face, calming her anger as it set her pulse racing.
"What did you mean by that remark about Mercedes?" he asked.
As she summarized the woman's visit he listened attentively. "Seems like a logical connection," he said.
"You don't agree?" Callie's anger threatened to explode once again. She tried to move out of his reach but he held her close.
"I didn’t say that." With an arm around her shoulders he led her back to the dining room. "This kind of stunt doesn't seem like her style, that's all, but I'll check it out." As they reached the doors, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I smell something burning."
"My dinner...."
"Let's see what we can rescue."
Four blackened lumps were all that remained. "Doesn’t matter," Callie said with a grimace. "I've lost my appetite anyway."
"You have to eat. Let’s get something at the Miner's Rest."
"You don't have to take care of me, Luc. I'm certain that’s beyond the call of duty."
"And what if I want to, not as a lawman but as a friend?"
Callie smiled at the boyish expectation on his face. Its appeal was hard to resist. "Should we leave the house unattended?"
"Whoever did the damage isn't coming back tonight, I guarantee you."
"Maybe not, but I think I'll tell Nick what happened."
"It's your call.”
"The sheriff is probably right," Nick said after Callie had explained the night's events. "But I'll get a couple of my guys to help me board up the damaged windows. You'll feel safer and so will I."
"Do you need us to be here?"
"As opposed to...?"
"I haven't eaten since this morning. We were going to get a bite."
"No problem. We'll be over there in half an hour or so, do what we have to and be gone. No need for you to stick around."
"I'm sorry to bring you out so late at night."
"You did the right thing."
When they arrived at the small eatery, Luc parked nose in to the building. Inside, light from miner's lamps placed at intervals around the room softened the rough wooden planks that made up the scarred and aging walls. Above them, the beamed roof faded into the darkness.
"Come meet Ketch Underhill," Luc said.
"Ketch, say hola to Callie Patterson.
She's the new owner of The Mansion."
Long, lean and mustachioed, the man seemed to jump off the page of a history book. A string tie and garters bracing the sleeves of his white shirt completed the picture.
"So I've heard." He leaned over the marble counter of the bar and held out his hand. "Welcome to Blue Sky. And may I say, if you like it quiet, you'll like it here."
"Not lately," Luc said.
"Did I miss something?" Ketch asked.
Luc recounted the two incidents of vandalism. "Hear any bragging or loose talk around here that might tie in?"
Ketch considered the question and shook his head.
"Nope.
But I'll let you know if I do."
"Thanks.
My booth empty?"
"Sure," the man drawled.
"Just head on back.
I'll bring coffee."
Given the lateness of the hour, Callie was surprised to see many of the booths filled. Luc ushered her to one containing a place card reading, "RESERVED."
"Church pews," Callie said, caressing a wooden arm.
"From a mission in an old mining camp up the line.
Ketch's father rescued them just before the buildings were torn down. The church included."