The Wrangler

“Might help me finish those cookies, too?”

Grinning, Val said, “Absolutely.”

CHAPTER SIX

GWEN GARNER STOOD at the rear of her quilting store next to a grocery cart filled with new fabrics that had to be placed out for sale. The store was busy and she had her head down, tucking a bright, colorful Hoffman batik fabric into place when someone tapped her smartly on the shoulder.

Looking up, Gwen scowled. “Mr. Downing.” She continued placing the fabric into the end cap.

“Mrs. Garner, how are you today?” Curt tipped his tan Stetson hat in her direction. He saw her face turn sour. Curt didn’t like having to come into the quilt shop and beg for information. And by the look in Gwen’s narrowing eyes, he wondered if coming here was smart. He added a hopeful smile and settled his hat on his head. “I was just over at Andy’s Horse Emporium getting hay for my horses when I saw Val Hunter.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you know she was in town?”

Gwen pushed her cart to the next island of fabrics. “Of course I did, Mr. Downing.”

Curt followed her, keeping his voice low and always scanning the store. “Val was in the Air Force. She was making a career of it. Why would she return home?”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Gwen said, “It ought to be pretty obvious, Mr. Downing. After Gus broke her hip, she couldn’t maintain the Bar H by herself. She asked her granddaughter to come home and help.”

“Wow,” Curt said, “that’s asking a lot.”

“Ranching families stick together,” she retorted, iciness in her tone as she picked up another bolt of fabric and slid it into place.

Continuing to follow her, Curt asked, “Then, she’s here for good?” That made him anxious. The old biddy wouldn’t sell no matter what.

“As far as I know, yes.”

“A shame to throw away her career like that.”

“And an even bigger shame if a family ranch goes belly-up, don’t you think?”

Curt tried to hide his irritation. Gwen obviously didn’t want to talk to him, her voice sharp with rebuke over his questions. “I mean,” he said, “why not hire a wrangler or two?”

“Enough of this, Mr. Downing.” Gwen jammed her hands on her hips. “I don’t pretend to know what’s in the mind of anyone, but the facts are in front of your nose. Val Hunter has come home for good.” She gave him a frosty smile. “Guess that sort of stops your plan to steal the Bar H out from under Gus, doesn’t it?”

Curt felt heat sweeping up from his neck and into his cheeks. He clenched his teeth for a moment, his jaw becoming hard. This bitch of a woman was too powerful in Jackson Hole. He hated her, but he needed her. If she only knew what he could do to her and her family… Forcing a thin smile, he continued, “You have to admit, the Bar H is a very nice property. With Long Lake on half of it, I could see bringing in a realty development to build a lot of condos. It could be a great place for tourists and their families. And it would help the town’s economy.”

Nostrils flaring, Gwen said, “Gus knows you would never honor the ranch or its land. Frankly, I’m glad Val is home.”

Curt watched as Gwen turned around and pushed the cart down another aisle. He didn’t follow her this time. Hiding his anger toward the woman, he strolled out of the quilt shop. On the wooden porch, Curt looked around. He decided to go visit his Realtor, Bobby Fortner. It was a mere walk around the corner to Raven Realty.

Fortner was at his desk when Curt entered his office. Instantly, the short man was on his feet.

“Mr. Downing, an unexpected pleasure.” Fortner scuttled around his massive oak desk and gestured to the chair in front of it. “Please, have a seat. May I get you some coffee?”

This was more like it. Curt secretly reveled in Fortner’s beta wolf reaction to him. He should. Over the years, he’d made this plain man with squinty brown eyes and lifeless black hair very rich. “Thank you, Bobby. And no, I’ll pass on the coffee.”

Quickly running his short, thin fingers through his hair, Bobby sat down. “What can I do for you, Mr. Downing?”

“Well,” Curt said, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other, “I need more in-depth information on the Bar H.”

“Oh, yes sir.” Bobby quickly typed the name into the computer in front of him. “What would you like to know?”

“First, is it completely paid off? Or is there a still a mortgage on it? Any liens?”

“No, it’s paid in full and no liens, sir.” Fortner’s brow scrunched. “They continue to be up-to-date with their property taxes, too.” He peered around his computer. “Is this what you needed?”

Mouth thinning, Curt growled, “Yes, I suppose so. If that crusty old woman wasn’t so damned stubborn, the Bar H would have been easy to snap up.”

“I know you’ve wanted the property for a long time. You’re looking for ways to get Miss Gus to hand it over.” Fortner shrugged. “Realistically, unless she wants to sell it, there’s nothing else that can be done.”

Snarling out of frustration, Downing said, “She’s eighty-four years old, for God’s sake. You’d think she’d die. I need that ranch, dammit!” Curt clenched his fist. Fortner had no idea he moved drugs for a Mexican cartel, but he didn’t seem suspicious of why Curt wanted the land so badly.

“Short of a forest fire or an earthquake taking the ranch down,” Bobby said in jest, “I don’t know what else could be done.”

Curt thought about the Realtor’s offhand remark but said nothing further about it to Fortner. The Bar H stood in a clearing and was surrounded by heavy forest. “I want you to go out and visit Miss Gus. Be nice to her. See if she’ll bite on my offer again. Up the bid to one point five million dollars. That should get her attention.”

“I’ll try, but she always turns me down,” Bobby said, giving him a helpless look.

“Take a box of chocolates to the old dame. Just get her talking and see what her ideas are for the ranch. But call ahead and make an appointment. She hates someone showing up unannounced.”

Flustered, Bobby wiped his perspiring brow with his handkerchief. “Er…you want me to just drop by, chat and find out what I can?”

Rising to his feet, Curt said, “Yes. She’ll talk to you more easily than she did to me.” He didn’t add that Miss Gus had practically thrown him off the property, such was her hate for him. Settling his cowboy hat on his head, Curt walked to the door. “Call me after your visit.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Curt left the office. As he walked around the corner toward his bright red truck, his mind revolved around how to get Miss Gus out of that damned property so he could have it. He needed it. Now. Not later. Fortner’s offhand comment about a forest fire consuming the ranch had given him a new idea.

* * *

GRIFF WAS IN THE BARN WITH the parts from an old automatic posthole digger spread across a canvas on the floor. The day was warm and he appreciated the breeze through the box stall area where he was repairing the cranky equipment. Working alone for long stretches of time had given him time to think. The honesty and goodness of Miss Gus and Val had shown him how important it was to have integrity. It made him really want to apologize to Slade for the way he had treated him when he was a big shot on Wall Street. His brother had needed his help and he hadn’t offered it. He felt terrible about it now and realized the right thing was to apologize sincerely to his twin.

He heard footsteps approaching across the concrete. Lifting his head, he saw it was Val. Griff felt she was a secret pleasure to him. She was tall, lithe, her red hair in a ponytail swinging behind her shoulders. Even though she wore typical ranch clothing, Levi’s and a white, short-sleeved tee, they lovingly outlined her body. He wondered as he had many times if she had a man in her life. He’d not heard it come up in table talk and wasn’t about to broach the topic himself. That would have been out of line. He was the hired hand. Not a family member.

“How’s it going?” Val asked, halting and studying the parts of the posthole digger. She tried to quell her reaction to Griff’s gaze. On his hands and knees, a wooden toolbox nearby, he was easy to look at. The light and dark in the barn accentuated the hard planes of his sun-darkened face.

Griff gave her a half smile and he wiped his hands off on a nearby rag. “It’s going.”

“That thing hasn’t been used in years,” Val said. “I’m sure the carburetor needs to be cleaned out or replaced.”

“You’re right,” Griff agreed. He pointed to the engine piece. “I was just starting to pull it apart to see if it’s gummed up. I’m sure it is.” And that meant buying a rebuilt carburetor for the digger. If one could be found.

“Did you try starting it first?”

“I broke the rope trying to get it going. I’ll have to buy a replacement rope in town.” Griff had a tough time keeping his eyes on his work. Val was a powerful draw. Loneliness, having been without a woman for a long time, was part of the allure. Another, which Griff tucked away in his heart, was his appreciation of her as a woman who was not only attractive but had a lot of common sense. Val was nothing like the women he’d had relationships with in New York City. They were beautiful tropical birds in comparison and would never survive the harsh environment of ranch life. Val wore no jewelry, no makeup, not even lipstick. She didn’t need cosmetics. Her lips were a natural pink color. Most of all, he liked her freckles. They made her look like a young girl instead of the mature woman she was.

Val picked up the frayed and broken rope. “Well, this auger is about thirty years old. It’s DOA, dead on arrival.” She squatted in front of him, elbows resting on her thighs, opposite of where he was working. Griff had strong-looking fingers and yet, he expertly opened the engine and delicately began checking it with expert ease. His head was bent and she had a chance to absorb his strong profile. His mouth, which she found delicious, was pursed as he focused on his inspection. Her curiosity got the better of her.

“Do you miss your home?”