by Diana Palmer
“It wasn’t Bio-Ag?” she interrupted. “You’re sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I wouldn’t forget a name like that.”
She sighed. She’d been so certain. “Well, I appreciate your time anyway, Mr. James.” She paused. “Just a minute. Do you remember the names of any of the officials of the company?” she added quickly. “A Mr. Samuels, perhaps? Or a Mr. Logan?”
“Samuels? Samuels...” There was another long pause, and Gaby held her breath. “Yes. That was the man’s name. The company was called Cotton West. There was a class action lawsuit filed by several ranchers here who lost cattle because of pesticides leaching into the surface water table. I was the prosecutor in the case, and Cotton West was fined. But as I recall, they declared bankruptcy and the ranchers never recovered a dime. Yes, that’s right.”
“Mr. James, may I quote you?”
“Oh, I’ll do better than that, young lady—I’ll send you a transcript of the trial. Give me your address.”
“The newspaper will gladly reimburse you if you can send it express, so that we have it early Tuesday morning,” she said. “Better yet, one of our reporters can fly out there to get it tomorrow.”
“Very well. If you’ll have the reporter call me from the airport, I’ll be glad to provide transportation for him,” he added kindly. “I hate to see a polluter get away with anything, Miss Cane. You can count on my help. There’s an environmentalist here who might like to say a few words, too.”
Gaby could hardly believe her luck. Finally, something concrete! She almost danced around the telephone. She called Bob, and he said that he’d have Harvey fly out there this very afternoon and be waiting when the federal and state offices opened Monday morning. She hung up, very pleased with her efforts. This would delight Bowie, if only she had a chance to tell him. If he managed to bring Mr. Kingman back, she doubted that she’d have five minutes to tell him anything, in all the excitement. She only hoped that things worked out for Aggie and her beau. They had to. She wanted Aggie to be as happy as she was herself.
BOWIE SETTLED HIS big frame into the co-pilot’s seat next to Ted Kingman and put on the headphones. He’d watched the older man go over the preflight checklist and he’d done his own walkaround, checking the fuel tanks and examining the hull.
Kingman had looked up from his clipboard, frowning. “What are you doing?”
“Double-checking,” Bowie muttered. “Just to be safe.”
“I’ve been flying since you were a kid,” came the terse reply. “I’m instrument-rated.”
Bowie had stared back at him. “So am I. I’ve got a license and I can fly, too.”
Kingman’s eyes widened. “And you fly commercially?”
“Well, I’m the pilot whose flying scares me,” he’d confessed with a sheepish grin. “We’ve got another one who works for my board of directors and executives. I go up all right, and I fly all right. But I’m a holy terror on landings. Never could get the hang of crosswinds...”
Kingman chuckled softly. “I might be able to give you a hand there,” he mused. “I had the same problem once.”
“I might take you up on it,” he replied.
They’d climbed into the cockpit at last and soon were in the air and on their way.
“I didn’t notice a landing field at the ranch,” Kingman remarked.
“There isn’t one. I hate concrete on open land.”
Kingman glanced at him. “How’s the water battle going?”
Bowie filled him in, smoothing over the gunshots and the council meeting, but the older man was sharp. He didn’t say a lot, but his expression spoke volumes.
“What will Gaby do about her share of the land?” he asked.
Bowie sighed. “Sell it, I imagine. I can’t blame her. She feels as strongly about progress as I feel about the past.”
“A few jobs won’t replace the groundwater that’s ruined,” Kingman replied. “You’re right—she isn’t. I hope she finds out in time.”
Bowie was oddly touched that the man sided with him. He hadn’t really expected him to. “Why did you get out of rodeoing?” he asked suddenly.
Kingman’s hands tightened on the joystick. “I caught my hand in a rope, bareback bronc riding. It tore it up pretty bad. They put me back together again, but I could never use that hand well enough again to come out on top.” He shrugged. “Never could stand being second best at anything.”
“Well, you’re tops with quarter horses,” Bowie murmured. “I should have realized who you were when you saved that Mexican boy from the bronc.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. It’s important to me that Aggie takes me at face value.”
“I think you’ll find that Aggie would take you if you came covered in catsup and wearing a bun.”
Kingman chuckled. “We’ll see.”
They flew to the Tucson airport and drove down to the ranch in Bowie’s Scorpio. Kingman smoked more and talked less as they neared Casa Río, and by the time they pulled up in the driveway, the older man was rigid.
Bowie had to fight not to grin at the Kingman’s discomfort. If that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.
He went into the house first, but there was no one in sight. He peeked into the dining room, where Montoya was setting the table.
“Where’s Aggie?” Bowie whispered.
“In the living room. Gaby has gone upstairs for a minute.”
Bowie motioned out the front door to Kingman and led the way to the living room.
Aggie was sitting on the sofa watching the news, her wan face barely interested in what was on the screen.
“Hello, Aggie,” Bowie said.
She glanced at him. “Hello. Where have you been?”
“Just flying around. Look what I found.”
He stood aside and let Ted Kingman walk into the living room.
Aggie didn’t faint. She was good Arizona stock and not given to swoons, but she stood up with wobbly legs and a voice that sounded strained.
“Ned?” she croaked.
“Bowie says you’ve been getting your diploma in farm management,” Kingman said easily. “He invited me down to watch you milk cows.”
Aggie swallowed, her eyes soft and liquid with love as she studied his dark face hungrily. “I’d be delighted,” she faltered. She tried to smile. “How have you been?”
“Miserable, thanks,” Kingman replied. “How about you?”
“Just the same. And so alone.” Her voice broke.
Kingman’s face was a study in restraint gone to the wind. “My God, how do you think it’s been for me?” he ground out. “Come here!”
He held out his arms and Aggie ran into them. He half lifted her, searching her eyes for the space of a heartbeat, and then he was kissing her. The fierce possession in the embrace would have been obvious to a blind man. Aggie moaned, and Kingman muttered something under his breath before he caught her closer and bent again.
Bowie discreetly closed the door behind him and turned, to see Gaby coming down the staircase.
“Mr. Courtland?” she asked, nodding toward the closed door.
He grinned. “Mr. Kingman,” he corrected. He moved toward her.
“Miss me?”
“Terribly.” She slid down the staircase into his arms and kissed him warmly. “He didn’t shoot you.”
“I thought he might, at first. Let’s have coffee, and I’ll tell you all about it.” He glanced at the study door as they passed it and grinned at the faint sound coming out of it. “My, my, and here I thought she was over the hill.”
Gaby blushed, still new to that kind of innuendo. She clung to his strong hand and followed him into the dining room.
‘Tía Elena and I have prepared a late lunch,” Montoya said when Bowie asked for coffee. “I will bri
ng in the taco salads. What is happening?”
Bowie stared at him without answering.
“Tell me!” Montoya almost danced with impatience to know what was going on.
“Tell you what?” Bowie asked innocently.
“What are they doing?”
“Why not peek in the keyhole and find out?” Bowie grinned.
Montoya gave him a glare. “If you do not tell me, I will have Tía Elena starch your sheets.”
“All right, Mr. Kingman is as miserable as Aggie is,” the younger man said as he sat down beside Gaby. “He kissed her and she kissed him back, and I’ll give you three guesses what they’re doing right now.”
Montoya grinned. “I will fetch the salad.”
“Was it hard to convince him to come down here?” Gaby asked, her eyes soft on his face.
“It looked that way at first,” he replied. “But he’s crazy about her. I don’t think he really needed much incentive, especially after I told him she was suicidal,” he added, tongue-in-cheek.
“You didn’t!” she gasped. “Aggie will shoot you herself!”
“Not right away,” he murmured with a dry glance in the general direction of the living room. “Besides, he was getting stubborn. I had to make him see how desperate the situation was.”
“And you were the one trying to run him off in the first place,” she reminded him.
He took her soft hand and raised it to his lips. “I didn’t understand what they felt, at the time.” His black eyes began to glitter. “My God, I understand it now!” he said huskily.
Gaby’s hand began to tremble where his held it. She was still getting used to having Bowie look at her like that, even if all the old fears were gone. There was only one last hurdle, and even that wasn’t the terror it had been.
Before she could speak, there was the sound of a door opening, and two disheveled, breathless older people came into the dining room, hand in hand.
“We’re starved,” Aggie said with a shy glance at Ted Kingman. “What’s for lunch?”
“What do you care?” Bowie grinned. “You’d more than likely eat cardboard and not notice right now.”
“Stop that,” Aggie muttered uncomfortably. She and Ted sat down next to each other, casting shy, curious glances at each other. Gaby and Bowie, watching, found the byplay amusing.
Montoya brought in a platter of taco salads and a huge bowl of chili, grinning from ear to ear. “Good to see you again, Señor Courtland,” he greeted.
The older man shifted restlessly, his eyes going to Aggie. “Actually,” he began, “Courtland is my middle name.”
“Is it?” Aggie asked.
“My first name is Edward, but I usually go by Ted. And my parents are Kingmans from Texas.”
Aggie didn’t even blink, but her face went slowly red while she stared at him. “The Kingmans from near San Antonio?” she asked.
Kingman nodded. “The very same.”
Aggie didn’t move. She sat very still. “I’ve been mucking out stables,” she began. “And pitching hay, and milking cows, and shoveling feed, and carrying water...you said I’d have to work on the ranch.” Her black eyes began to burn. “You don’t have a small ranch, you have a small empire!” she burst out, getting to her feet to glare down at him. “You thought I was after your money! You thought that I got lost deliberately...oh, my God!”
“Now, listen, Aggie,” Kingman began. “You don’t understand.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she said, her voice shaking with rage. “You came down here to see where I lived and meet my kinfolk and decide whether or not I was good enough for you.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Well, thank you for coming back long enough to tell me the truth. And now you can go back to your quarter horses and your cattle and leave me alone! I don’t want you!”
“That sure as hell wasn’t the impression you gave me just now in the living room,” Kingman returned, his own eyes glittering.
“That’s true,” Bowie told Gaby lazily. “I thought she was going to kiss him to death.”
“Shut up!” Aggie wailed.
“And she’s all but stopped eating, and all she’s been doing is mooning around here,” Bowie continued. “She sure doesn’t act like a woman who doesn’t want you,” he added to Kingman.
“Whose side are you on?!” Aggie demanded of her son.
“His,” Bowie nodded toward Kingman, whose eyebrows arched. “Well, Aggie, we men have to stick together.”
“You can just put him right back where you found him,” Aggie muttered, turning to leave the room. “A gold digger. He thought I was a gold digger!” she muttered on the way.
“Well, don’t just sit there,” Bowie glared at Kingman. “Go after her!”
“I won’t,” Kingman said shortly. “If that’s the way she wants it, that’s fine with me.”
“You can’t come all this way and give up so quickly.”
“Sure I can,” Kingman replied. He got up, his face stiff with anger and sadness. “You heard her. Put me back where you found me.”
Bowie sighed angrily. “Some father you’re turning out to be,” he muttered as he got up from the table. “Leaving me here alone to cope with a rabid mother.”
Kingman had to fight back a grin. “Never mind all that. I’m too old to be anybody’s father.”
“I’d let you take me to ball games,” Bowie offered. “We could go to aerobatic shows, too.” He frowned thoughtfully. “And I’ve always wanted to learn how to rope. I never could get the hang of it.”
“For God’s sake!” Kingman burst out.
Gaby had her face in her hands, trying not to giggle. Bowie just shrugged. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it. Come on, I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“Goodbye, Gaby,” Kingman said uncomfortably.
“Goodbye, Mr. Kingman,” she said, stifling laughter. “I hope this won’t be the last goodbye.”
“This is how Aggie wants it,” he returned coldly.
“Aggie wants you to follow her and kiss her half to death and tell her that you don’t think she’s a gold digger,” Bowie told him. “But I guess that’s a tall order for a man your age. I mean, Aggie’s only fifty-six and she listens to Spanish music—very passionate Spanish music.” He glanced at the rigid face of the man beside him as they walked toward the front door. “I guess she’d be more woman than you could handle.”
“Damn it!” Kingman burst out. He whirled on his heel and went into the living room, where Aggie was sprawled, weeping, on the couch. “Now you listen to me, woman,” he said furiously, and slammed the door behind him, hard.
There were muffled angry voices and the sound of something hitting the floor, followed by a different muffled sound, and then silence. Bowie grinned and went back into the dining room.
“You devil,” Gaby accused, her olive eyes twinkling. “You did that deliberately.”
“Well, he’s the best father prospect I’ve had since my own died,” he said reasonably. “Besides, he’s on my side against the agricultural people.” He glared at Gaby. “Something I can’t even say for my own wife.”
She touched his big hand. “Don’t let’s argue,” she said softly. “I’ve got a lot to tell you about that later. Okay?”
He sighed heavily and sat down beside her. “Okay,” he said with obvious reluctance. “Here, have some guacamole on that salad.”
It was a long time before Aggie and Mr. Kingman came out of the living room, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they’d reached a truce. The engagement was back on again, and Aggie announced plans for a wedding the very next week. Bowie didn’t bat an eyelash, although he did wink at Mr. Kingman.
Gaby had waited with bated breath in her own bedroom for Bowie to come to her. She’d been uncertain about going to his—bein
g married was still new to her. She hadn’t made him an invitation in so many words, but they’d been very comfortable with each other since the night before, when he’d had too much brandy. She’d rather expected that he might want to sleep with her again, even if she was still a little too uncomfortable for anything else.
But he didn’t come. She lay awake with the lights on, hoping against hope that the cold wall between them had come down at last. Mr. Kingman had flown back to Wyoming to get a few things and to delegate some authority before he flew back to spend some time with a delighted Aggie before the wedding—which his sisters would attend as well. But after Bowie drove the older man to the airport, he didn’t come straight home. Gaby and Aggie had been frantic, after the shot McHaney’s son had taken at him already. They paced and mumbled until he finally showed up about nine o’clock in the evening.
He barely spoke to Gaby, directing his sparse conversation at Aggie instead. And when bedtime came, he excused himself and went into his study, where he closed the door firmly behind him.
Aggie had offered to talk, but Gaby was still shell-shocked by her sudden wedding and Bowie’s odd behavior, so she had murmured something about being sleepy and escaped into her own bedroom.
Now she was hoping that Bowie would remember his married state and come to her, but it was midnight, and he didn’t.
She heard footsteps finally and sat up in bed, arranging the covers just so, straightening the sheet, pushing her long hair back to make sure that every strand was in place. The gown was white—a very revealing one that she’d begged from Aggie while Bowie was gone. It was seductive and pretty, and it made her feel very feminine.
She held her breath as heavy footsteps came to her door and paused. But after a terse second, they continued lazily down the hall to Bowie’s room. A door closed firmly.
Gaby could have screamed. For one minute, she thought about bursting into his room and demanding to know what he was up to, but her nerve failed her. She turned out her light and lay down. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done—until she remembered the angry remark he’d made about her lack of loyalty in her dealings with Bio-Ag. He thought she was going to sell her share of Casa Río to them, and he was furious about it. She wasn’t. She was on his side. But if he didn’t trust her enough to know that she wouldn’t ever sell him out without giving him a chance to protest, then he didn’t know her at all.
