Authors: Hope Navarre
“This is Walter Feldman,” the man said stiffly. “I understand that you want to set up a meeting with me.”
“I do.” And she was going to keep an open mind about this guy that Milo said was hell to work with.
“When?”
“Anytime that's convenient to you.”
“This afternoon work?”
Ellie glanced at the clock. It was close to eleven. “Yes. That would be fine. Say three o'clock?”
“I'll be there. Goodbye.” The line went dead.
Ellie wrinkled her forehead as she put the receiver back in the cradle.
Open mind.
He'd said his piece, made his appointment and hung up. That at least smacked of efficiency. Ellie reached for her sweater. That gave her an hour or two to take her self-guided tour, maybe come up with some questions to ask about the ranch itself.
She paused at the top of the porch steps as she pulled the sweater up over her arms and checked for the snake. Nothing, thank goodness, but she still hurried down the steps. Realistically the snake had probably been as frightened as she'd beenâbut it probably wasn't as embarrassed.
It was no big deal, she told herself as she crossed the flagstones. She'd had a couple missteps with the local wildlife, but now she had more of an idea of what to doâwatch out for snakes and keep the food in the house. And she might try thinking about the cowboy strictly as an employee, not as a rather fascinating man. It'd probably be better for her blood pressure.
* * *
W
ALTER
F
ELDMAN
WAS
barely three inches taller than Ellie. His lined face was freshly shaved and he was dressed in a carefully pressed and starched white Western shirt and dark blue jeans. His boots were polished and he wore a string tie around his neck with a silver slide. Classic cowboy...who smelled vaguely of alcohol. It wasn't on his breath, but it was there.
“Have a seat,” she said with a smile. He hesitated, then sat, his gaze traveling around the room that had once belonged to him. Maybe she should have arranged to meet at his place.
“I have my papers here,” he said, shifting his attention back to her.
“Your papers?” Ellie asked with a lift of her eyebrows.
“Yeah. Ryan said that you'd want a rundown of what I do.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you.” She reached out for the papers, watching to see if his hands shook at all. Nope. Steady as a rock. He'd written out his job description on plain white computer paper in careful block lettersâall caps. No sign of unsteadiness in his handwriting, either, and since he had to have written this today, after being warned by Ryan, she decided not to jump to any conclusions about him being an alcoholic.
But he had been drinking heavily recently. His red-rimmed eyes, shining vividly blue in his lined face, gave testament to that. That and her hypersensitive sense of smell, thank you very much, progesterone.
“I, uh, put down everything I could think of, but might have left some stuff out because I didn't know what you wanted.”
Ellie smiled, remembering her vow to keep an open mind. “Of course you didn't. I'd planned to let you know what I wanted when we met, but apparently Mr. Madison beat me to it.”
“Ryan's efficient.”
Ellie ignored the plug for Ryan and took a minute to read what the old man had written. He gave detailed information about cattle breeding and lineages he favored. He outlined the cattle-production schedule and had a section where he listed prizes and awards he'd won with his bulls.
“So your expertise is cattle breeding.”
“It's what I do.”
“And around the ranch, what are your management responsibilities?”
“Well, Ryan takes care of the pastures and grazing. Francisco does the mechanic-ing, keeps all the equipment running, maintains the buildings and roads and such. We're all on duty during calving.”
“And you run the breeding program?”
“I do.”
“Do you and Ryan and Francisco meet?” The old man wrinkled his forehead and Ellie said, “How do they know what to do and when?”
“Common sense is a big help.”
“So you don't outline jobs for them?”
“If I see something that needs done, I mention it, but these guys are pretty much self-starters.”
“Describe an average day for me.” Another frown and Ellie explained, “I worked for a large software company until recently. I'm not familiar with ranching.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked pointedly.
“To get familiar.”
Walt took a deep breath, as if calming himself, then said, “On an average day I help feed the cattle. I might check fences. I might dig postholes. I might run the tractor or muck out the corrals. I might deal with irrigation.” He gave a frustrated movement of his hands. “It all depends on the day and the season.”
“I see.” She decided to shift gears. “As the supervisor, are you satisfied with Mr. Madison's and Mr. Garcia's job performances?”
“They're still here, aren't they?”
She looked down at the paper Walt had given her, then back up at the old man. “My job is to collect information about how this ranch is run and organize it so that my aunt and uncle can see what present practices are in place and move forward. When the consultant arrivesâ”
“What consultant?” Walt snapped, his eyebrows coming together fiercely. “I've heard nothing about a consultant.”
Probably because you aren't very good at communicating with your boss and are therefore skating on thin ice.
“Later this summer a ranch consultant will be evaluating practices at the Rocky View. I'll act as liaison between him and my aunt and uncle.”
“Who is it?”
“The consultant? I don't know his name.” Although that was on her list of things to talk to Milo about once she'd settled in and could get hold of him.
Walt shifted in his chair, his expression tight, threatened.
“When's he coming?”
“Later this summer and, before he comes, I want to be well familiar with the ranch. To do that, I need some idea of the hierarchy,” she explained patiently. “How decisions are made. When they're made and by whom.”
Walt let out an exasperated breath. For a second she thought he wasn't going to answer, then he said, “Ryan makes the decisions on the pastures and grazing. Francisco handles the maintenance and I handle the breeding program.”
“That sounds like three separate entities rather than a team being managed by one person.”
“Look, Miss...” He frowned as he fought to remember her name and then gave up. “This system works. Now, I'll admit to hitting some hard times, but after Ryan came on...things changed and we're making money again.”
Some, according to Milo, but not a lot. “A business needs one manager,” Ellie persisted. “Not three people working independently.”
“It has one. Me.”
Ellie sighed. He wasn't getting it and it looked, judging by the expression he wore, that he was thinking the exact same thought. They both jumped when a knock rattled the back door.
“That'd be Francisco,” Walt muttered. “He has some business in town tonight and wanted to get this over with before he goes.”
“Maybe we can talk some more later,” Ellie said as Walt got to his feet. Obviously in his mind the interview was over.
“Yeah. I'll just tell Francisco to come on in.” He was moving toward the door so fast that Ellie was surprised that she didn't get the Doppler effect.
Milo was correctâthis guy needed work on his communication skills. And Ellie needed to keep an eye on him to see if his drinking was a problem.
* * *
“S
HE
'
S
BRINGING
IN
a ranch consultant,” Walt repeated as he paced along the cedar rail fence behind the bunkhouse. He stopped to glare at Ryan. “You
know
what happened to the Vineyard Ranch when they brought in George Monroe to consult. That asshole.”
“Nothing saying it's going to be George.” But Ryan had a bad feeling it was. The Bradworths and the Kenyons, who'd bought the Vineyard a few years ago, were friends. The Kenyons were probably the reason the Bradworths had bought the Rocky View.
“It's George,” Walt growled.
Ryan coiled his rope. There'd be no focusing until Walt got a grip. After the snake scare with Ellison, he'd spent a couple hours on the mountain looking for the cows, then he had come back to work on the broken irrigation head gate. He'd hoped to be finished in time to rope some calves, but had gotten back too late, so he'd had to settle for roping the dummy. Until Walt had shown up, livid.
Walt's scowl intensified. “Aren't you going to practice?”
“I'm good,” Ryan said.
“I've never known you to be
good.
”
“Good enough, then.” Ryan rarely sloughed practice, but tonight he figured he needed to focus on Walt. Calm him down before he left tomorrow night. He had back-to-back rodeos three hundred miles apart, one of which had a rich purse he needed to winâa purse that his brother wouldn't be fighting him for. It still felt so damned strange.
“Having this woman around is very unsettling,” Walt grumbled, resuming his pacing. “These people know nothing.” He shot another fierce look at Ryan. “She
told
me she knows nothing. She's âhere to learn,'” he quipped, miming quotation marks.
“I know you hoped this would be like the Bar R and the Trail Creek,” Ryan said, referring to two ranches that had sold to absentee owners solely interested in tax write-offs. “And it may still play out that way. Give it some time. Don't piss these guys off.”
“If George has his way, then none of us will be here to piss anyone off,” Walt muttered.
“You don't know that it's George.”
“You don't know that it isn't,” Walt growled.
Ryan came to stand in front of the old man, waiting for him to glare up at him before he said, “I'm not telling you what to do or anythingâ” although he really was “âbut while I'm gone, kind of steer clear of Ms. Hunter, at least until you cool off. No sense burning any bridges just because she might be bringing in George Monroe.”
“Afraid I'll muck things up for all of us?” Walt asked.
“Totally.” The frustration of working with a person who knew nothing about ranching but was suddenly the boss was that there was a lot of explaining to do. Some people could take it, some couldn't. Walt was in the latter camp. He wasn't going to put up with micromanaging and questioning the wisdom of his decisions.
Walt considered, then gave a soft snort. “Maybe lying low is the best thing to do.”
“For now,” Ryan agreed, relieved. “No chance you want to come to the rodeo with me? Lonnie and Francisco could cover while we're gone.”
“I have a lot to do rebuilding the calving barn,” Walt said. “And hopefully I'll be here next spring to use it.”
“Which is why you're going to lie low for now.”
“Agreed,” the old man muttered. “I'll be invisible. Or as invisible as I can be with power tools.”
Walt got into his rig a few minutes later and took off for his house, or the Garcia's, depending on whether he went there to eat or not. Sometimes Walt liked being social and playing Grandpa to the kids, and sometimes he just needed to be left alone. Ryan and Francisco and Jessie understood that. Ellison probably wouldn't.
Once Walt was gone, Ryan threw a few more practice loops before deciding to call it a night. He'd asked Lonnie to handle the irrigating tomorrow while he took one last stab at finding Walt's missing cattle, and then it was simply a matter of showering and driving two hundred miles to the rodeo where he'd compete the following morning. It'd be a string of long days, but that was the way it was in the summers. Nothing he could do about it except deal with sleep deprivation.
“Excuse me?” Ellison's voice startled him. After Walt left for the day, Ryan was always alone.
Not anymore.
She stood at the corner of the bunkhouse wearing a long white shirt over slim dark jeans with those flimsy flat shoes, regarding him with those cool green eyes that he found more attractive than he wanted to admit. She started toward him when he didn't answer immediately and as she got closer he could see that her hair wasn't as perfect as usual. Instead it looked as if she'd been resting her head in her hands, loosening the strands around her face, giving her a softer look. “I was wondering if you were able to do anything about the snake?” she asked.
“I, uh, no,” he confessed. He'd pushed the matter of Hiss to the back of his mind and left it there. “I haven't had time and I didn't see Lonnie today.”
“Could you maybe call him?” Ellison asked with a polite edge to her voice.
So much for softness. “Sure.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight, but there's no guarantee that Lonnie's going to be able to catch him immediately.”
“He can try.”
“That he can.” Ryan walked toward her, rope in hand. She cocked her head.
“Were you roping?”
“Yes.” It seemed best to keep answers short and sweet, and then maybe she'd go back to her house.
“Like for exercise?”
A smile formed before he could stop it. “I guess.”
She studied him for a moment, obviously trying to get a read. “Do you do a lot of roping on the ranch?”
“During branding, yeah.” He stopped a few feet away from her, letting the rigid coils of the rope bounce on the side of his leg. “But that's not why I'm practicing. I rodeo during the summers.”
“I've never met anyone who rodeos.” She smiled that cool smile of hers. “I've never met anyone who uses the word
rodeo
as a verb.”