Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: A Ranch for His Family\Cowgirl in High Heels\A Man to Believe In (43 page)

George's expression remained congenial, but Ellie sensed a shift in his demeanor as he processed her response. “Certainly,” he said. “See you then.”

Ellie stayed where she was, damp gloves in hand, as George turned and made his way back down the path leading to the drive, wondering if she'd misread him or if charismatic George liked to run the show. It probably wouldn't take long for her to get a true read.

Almost exactly half an hour later, George knocked on the front door and Ellie let him in, smiling coolly at him before closing the door. She waved at the kitchen table and he walked past her, setting his laptop on the table.

“I just got off the phone with your uncle,” he said.

“I'm surprised you caught up with him,” Ellie said mildly. Usually, Angela confiscated his phone when they went on vacation.

“It wasn't easy,” he admitted. “But I thought it best to touch base with him before starting.”

So George was making it clear she wasn't his boss. “I see. Well, what did you two decide?”

George leaned back slightly in his chair, more comfortable now that she was following his lead. “I have to meet with a former client tomorrow in Butte, and then I officially start my evaluation here day after tomorrow. Milo wants me to meet with you and keep you updated. If you have any concerns, I can address them and I can make you aware of any issues that crop up.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Ellie agreed.

George pressed some keys on his laptop, pushing the machine away from him so that Ellie had a clear view of the screen. “These are the areas I'll be evaluating after doing my general observations the first couple days...”

He went on to describe how he would tackle each area, and Ellie had to admit that his plan seemed efficient and logical as he moved from the general to the specific in the areas of livestock and pasture management, irrigation, infrastructure and business operations.

“The first day will just be general observations, then I'll meet with you and we can discuss which aspects deserve the most attention during the time I'll be here.”

“How long does it usually take to do an evaluation?”

“I've done everything from two weeks to a year.”

“A year?” Ryan had said something about that.

“I moved onto the property and managed it until I could hire and train a new manager and crew who could run the place right.” George smiled reminiscently. “I had to basically tear everything down and build it again from scratch. The breeding program, the haying, the pastures and forage. Hell of an undertaking.”

“Mmm,” Ellie said politely.

“It's still doing well. The owners were the ones that recommended me to the Kenyons, who in turn recommended me to your uncle.”

“Hopefully this ranch won't need such a thorough overhaul,” Ellie murmured.

“Hopefully,” George agreed, closing up his laptop. “Time will tell. I have to tell you, though, usually properties with older managers need a lot of rehabilitation.”

“Shouldn't the older managers have more experience?”

“In methods that are outdated and often ineffective. The problem is that they don't want to change, and if that's the case, then they are detrimental to the property.”

“Again, I hope that's not the case here,” Ellie said, knowing full well it was.

“And again, time will tell,” George said.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

R
YAN
GOT
BACK
from repairing the irrigation in the north hayfield, wet, dirty and in dire need of a beer, only to find a fifth-wheel camp trailer with a pop out parked next to the bunkhouse. George Monroe sat in a chair outside, tapping away on his laptop.

He set the laptop aside on the wooden folding table next to him—the one with the tall glass of iced tea on it—and got to his feet. “Ryan. Good to see you.” He flashed a lot of teeth as he shook Ryan's hand. “I see that you're doing well in the roping this year. Looks like you have a trip to Vegas in your future.”

“I hope so,” Ryan said, although frankly he was beginning to care less and less about it.

George gestured toward the computer. “I'm jotting down some preliminary notes today, going over the personnel information before I meet with Ellie again.”

“Yeah?” Funny thing, but even though he'd come to the conclusion that it would be best for both he and Ellie if he kept a healthy distance, he didn't like hearing George call her by her first name. Didn't like it one bit; didn't like George one bit.

“So here's the plan,” the king of consultants said congenially. “I want to go out with you guys for several days, watch operations and then we'll have a sit-down and discuss what I've observed, your perspectives and possible changes.”

“All right.” Possible changes such as changing out the entire crew if the Vineyard was anything to judge by.

“You seem hesitant,” George said, a slight frown marring his good-natured expression.

“I'm just naturally cautious,” Ryan said.

“If you're doing your job well, you have nothing to be cautious about.”

That wasn't what he'd heard, but he wasn't going to challenge the guy. Walt would do that. Ryan had already started looking for small parcels of land nearby that Walt could purchase, but there was little that wasn't close to the road and the traffic Walt hated so much, yet in Walt's price range. And then there was the matter of convincing Walt that he wasn't going to die on this land. The last time he'd tentatively brought up the matter, over beer a few days ago, Walt had shut down, refused to speak.

Oh, yeah. The next weeks were going to be fun.

“I think you'll be satisfied with the jobs we do.”

George smiled, a fake smile not unlike the one that Ellie had given him upon first arrival. Although George's seemed to hold a hint of quiet malice, reminding Ryan of his mother's assessment of the man—George was a bully.

Half an hour later Ryan was sitting at Walt's table, on the receiving end of the older man's fierce glare. There'd been a time when Walt didn't glare. He'd been stern, but not angry.

“I will jump through hoops for this guy, but don't think it's not pissing me off.”

“I wouldn't think that for a minute,” Ryan assured him, and then he leaned forward, got serious. “You've alienated Ellie and you can't afford to do that with George. Hell, you couldn't afford to do it with Ellie.”

“If she can't handle straight talk—”

“What? She can fire you?”

Strong emotion played over Walt's face and Ryan could see that he still stubbornly clung to the idea that no one knew the ranch like him and no one was qualified to run it but him. He'd lost the place due to a mix of bad circumstances, but he saw those now as things that had been beyond his control—and in some ways he was correct. That didn't change the fact that Ellie—and probably George—could fire him in a heartbeat.

“I can't stand the idea of justifying my job to that guy,” Walt grumbled, “but I'll do it. At least he knows something...unlike the princess.”

“Don't underestimate her,” Ryan said smoothly.

Walt cocked an eyebrow at him, studying him as if ascertaining whether or not he'd gone to the dark side. “No,” he finally said. “Maybe I shouldn't.”

* * *

W
ALT
MADE
MORE
noise than necessary early in the morning—particularly when Ryan was at a rodeo, which he was today. Thanks to his revving of the four-wheeler, she was wide-awake and could get an early start on the day. Ellie walked to the window just as Walt, who must have finally figured out he'd annoyed her enough, put the ATV into gear and started across the pasture. The sound of the engine faded and Ellie went to put on the kettle.

Blessed peace.

Walt was gone. George was gone, off meeting with his former client in Butte. Of the two, she'd rather have Walt there revving his motor. She found it unsettling having George on the property, even though he'd been there less than twenty-four hours, which was probably exactly how Walt felt about her. Ellie gave a small snort—hard to believe, but she and Walt had something in common. They were both territorial.

Ellie had never thought of herself as being that way; if anything, she'd always felt like a drifter, because her home had never felt like home. She hadn't lived there for more than a few months at a time during middle school and high school and when she was there, it felt temporary because she knew she'd be leaving again soon. But she was definitely feeling territorial about the ranch. Maybe she could blame some pregnancy nesting instinct. Or maybe she was simply feeling protective toward the crew.

The phone rang in the late afternoon while Ellie was working some horse manure into the flower beds, following the directions from a gardening forum. Her flowers were doing well, but were nowhere near Angela standards. Well, Angela would either have to make do or hire a professional.

Ellie wiped her hands on her jeans as she crossed the back patio, wondering if it was George touching base. Or—speak of the devil—Angela. It turned out to be Kate, checking up on her.

“Are you dying of boredom out there in the wilderness?” she asked.

“I'm doing better, but it was touch and go for the first few weeks,” Ellie replied with a smile, going to sit on a leather chair.

“I envy you being there,” Kate said. “The location, not the circumstances that sent you there,” she clarified.

Kate always had liked the outdoors. “Someday you'll have to visit,” Ellie said.

“Are you
staying
there?” Kate asked, horrified.

“I'm looking for a job,” she said simply. “I know it might take a while and I know I'm not going to get any smaller as time goes by, but I have to give it a shot.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“Me, too. I just...needed some time to accept the reality of my situation. Work through some issues. I think I'm there and now I know what I have to do.”

“You are sounding more like yourself.... Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Keep your ears open.”

“You know I will.”

Ellie hung up a few minutes later and headed out to the garden, where she continued to work outside until the sun went behind the mountains and the air grew chilly. If she went back to apartment life, which was a given until she'd reestablished a career, she wouldn't have much opportunity to get her hands dirty, and she was going to indulge while she had the chance.

Ellie snapped on the lights as she walked into the house, then went to the kitchen to dig out something frozen to eat. George's truck was still gone...and Walt's was still there.

Ellie frowned. It was late for Walt to still be there.

Probably just doing ranch stuff she was unfamiliar with. The chores changed with the days and the seasons. But as it began to grown darker, Ellie's concern also grew. The guy was a total jerk toward her, but he was getting up in years and Ryan cared for him.

Ellie, knowing how quickly it could change from cool to freezing, pulled on a sweatshirt and a coat, then headed out the door. One of the barn cats trotted out from the tall grass, then crossed over to meet Ellie, who bent to stroke his orange-striped back before walking on to the pasture gate and staring off across the field in the direction that Walt had disappeared.

She had a bad feeling about this. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed Francisco and got no answer. Okay. She was on her own.

Ellie headed around the barn to the ranch truck and, as she'd hoped, the keys were dangling from the ignition. She hated doing this, hated to think of what a hearty laugh Walt was going to get when he caught her out looking for him, but on the other hand, what if he was in trouble?

Because of the recent rain it was easy to follow the four-wheeler tracks and Ellie drove along slowly, losing the tracks every now and then, only to pick them up a little farther on. She drove past the pond where she and Ryan had rescued the goose, past the place where he'd dumped the tank on the second-to-last day they'd worked together. Shortly after that she lost the tracks.

Had he turned off somewhere? Left the property?

Ellie reversed the truck and returned to the stock tanks where the last vestiges of ATV tracks were clear. She turned off the truck and got out, standing in the growing darkness, listening. Nothing.

“Walt?” In the distance she heard a cow. “Walt!”

Still nothing.

Frustrated, she got into the truck and was about to put it into gear when she saw movement in the brush across the meadow. She popped on the headlights and a man put his arm up in front of his face to ward off the glare.

Walt. On foot, his dogs trailing behind him.

Ellie turned the lights off and got out of the vehicle, wondering if Walt was going to be stubborn and walk on past her. The thought probably crossed his mind, but as he got closer she could see that he was limping badly enough that even he had to see the benefit of being driven home.

But it had to be killing him.

He walked straight to the passenger side of the vehicle and got in, groaning as he pulled his weight onto the seat. The dogs clamored up over the sides of the back of the truck without so much as an invitation.

“What happened?” Ellie asked in alarm.

“Four-wheeler rolled.”

“Your ribs?”

He nodded, and in the dim light of the cabin she could see sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead.

Ellie didn't say another word. She turned the headlights back on and swung into Reverse.

“Watch the stock tank,” Walt muttered.

Ellie stopped, jammed the gearshift into Park and turned toward Walt.

“You're welcome.” Her tone was low and harsh.

“What?”

“You said, ‘Thank you for coming to look for me so I didn't have to walk home,' and I said, ‘You're welcome.'” Then she threw the truck into gear and started toward the ranch, taking care, in spite of her instincts to the contrary, to miss as many ruts as possible. Walt very likely had broken or bruised ribs, and having once survived a bruised rib herself after a nasty fall from a tree, she knew what he was dealing with.

The old man sat in stony silence, staring straight ahead, or at least Ellie assumed he was because she refused to look at him.
Watch the stock tank.
She'd been well aware of the stock tank. She'd helped put it there!

When they got to the pasture gate, Walt made to get out and Ellie snapped, “Stay put.” With a surprised look, he acquiesced and Ellie got out to open the gate. After driving through she got out again and closed it, then drove the two hundred yards to where Walt's truck was parked.

“Thank—hey!” he said as Ellie drove past his truck and on down the driveway. “You don't have to take me home.”

“I know,” she said serenely. She was more than aware that she didn't have to do anything for Walt. He didn't want her to do anything for him. Tough.

She drove over the small hill and Walt's and the Garcias' places came into view. She continued on, past their driveways.

“What the hell?” Walt demanded. She cut him a sideways glance, saw the shocked and angry look on his face. And confusion. For once he was the one out of his element.

“You're going to the doctor.”

“The hell I am.”

“The hell you are, and the ranch is footing the bill.”

“No!”

Ellie didn't bother to respond.

“Now, listen here, Miss High and Mighty, you can't just kidnap me and take me to the doctor.”

“Yeah. I can,” Ellie replied calmly. “You've been injured on Rocky View property and I'm not risking a lawsuit.”

“A law—” Walt let out a ferocious breath followed by a colorful curse—one that Ellie made a mental note to remember. Not that she would use it, but Kate would find it amusing.

Walt grabbed for the door handle. “Really?” she asked. “You'd throw yourself out onto the road?”

“No, I wouldn't
throw myself out onto the road,
” Walt said, mimicking her.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I'm... I'm...” Another long exhale and then Walt tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “Pissed off!”

“I understand, but nevertheless, you're going to see a doctor.” She glanced sideways to see that Walt's eyes were still closed and his face was set in harsh lines from both mental and physical anguish. “I'm not doing this to piss you off and show you who's boss. I'm doing it because I'm concerned.”

He made no response. Didn't speak. Didn't move. Once they hit the outskirts of Glennan, Ellie said, “Are you going to tell me the easiest way to get to the hospital, or am I going to have to use my phone?”

It took two blocks for Walt to say, “Turn at the next stop sign.”

That was his only instruction and proved to be the only one necessary because six blocks down the street was a red-and-white sign that read Emergency Entrance.

Ellie drove into the lot. Walt tried to get out of the truck almost before she'd taken the key out of the ignition and again he groaned as his weight shifted. Ellie waited, then followed as he limped toward the entrance, bent over to keep the pressure off his damaged chest. And it occurred to her as she walked past him to open the door that if she could deal with this guy and win, maybe she did have what it took to deal with a toddler.