“And just how in the hell do you expect me to persuade Tristan Summerfield? The man has more money than God.”
“Oh, sweetheart, no one is wealthier than God. You must believe in him, that he knows what is best. Trust God to show you the path. Now, go. Go find out what this man wants, and please control your temper long enough to listen to him. He may be here to help you. Give him a chance.”
Vanessa thought on what her mother said, and after a few seconds, she knew her momma was right. She should have never left, and heard Mr. Summerfield out. It was rude of her to walk out as if the man was beneath her. No, her mom was correct. She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and go find out what this man wanted. For all she knew he was there to help her. Why, she had no clue, but sitting around Janie’s kitchen wallowing in her own self-pity wasn’t going to get her the answers she needed.
After kissing her mom good-bye, Vanessa felt better as she drove away from the Hicks Ranch. With a new purpose, Vanessa looked away only for a second to turn on the radio, never seeing the oncoming car.
* * * *
“Come on, big guy. I’ll buy you a drink,” Carter said slapping him on the back as they left the bank and headed for the car. Brice just stood there staring as the dust from her little car slowly faded. Wondering where she was going, and if she was all right, Brice closed his eyes and prayed for divine intervention. She was in trouble, and the powers that be were making it hard for them to help her. Oh, he knew they could easily give her the money she needed to pay off the note to whoever purchased the property, but they also knew Vanessa. There was no way she would accept the money. Walking to the car, he knew he would have to put his thinking cap on, because until they gained her trust, there was nothing they could do that would have positive results.
Heading over to the Rawhide, Brice sat stoically as Carter complained and cursed most of the way. Brice knew his best friend was pissed, and rightly so. He couldn’t understand why the bank wouldn’t let them pay off Vanessa’s note, or how the Treasure Cove Bank could sell it to someone else. Was this person local, a rancher, a family member? So many possibilities filtered through his mind as Carter drove out of town, heading for the bar.
The Rawhide Bar sat about fifteen miles east of town and was the only place between Treasure Cove and Celestial that anyone could go for a cold beer and decent music. Those around these parts knew of the Rainbow Room over in Celestial, but that was more a dance hall slash party club than a regular, old-fashioned bar, and right now, Brice needed a beer more than he needed techno music.
Walking into the bar, with Carter beside him, Brice sighed as the smell of sawdust and stale beer permeated his nostrils. The sounds of John Michael Montgomery’s “Letters from Home” played softly in the background. A few locals sat at the bar as a waitress moved leisurely cleaning the tables. Road signs, the American flag, and pictures of music artists filled the walls.
“Hey, Carter. Hi, Brice, what can I get for ya?” a large man said from behind the bar.
“I’ll take whatever you have on draft, Adam,” Carter replied, heading for a stool.
“Brice?”
“Root beer please,” he said, taking a seat next to Carter as both he and Adam laughed.
“Damn, Brice, when are you gonna get over that damn drink?” Adam asked, placing a cold root beer in front of him. Talking a long swig of the sweet carbonated concoction, Brice grinned.
“Never.”
“So what brings you boys in here? It’s a little early for ya, ain’t it?” Adam asked, leaning against the counter.
“We were in town at the bank. It didn’t go well,” Carter mumbled, holding his mug of beer, not drinking it.
“I didn’t know y’all were in trouble. Is there anything my brothers and I can do?”
“No, it’s not us. It’s Van. We wanted to pay off her note, to help ease her troubles, but the bank sold it to someone else,” Brice advised quietly.
Leaning over the bar a bit, Adam whispered, “Between the three of us, it’s not just Van. Clovis over there had is farm bought out right from under him, and Harley and Drake Weston are in Denver right now, trying to persuade their parents to help them. Things are looking bad around here. All the local stores and small farms are being bought up, and no one can figure anything out.”
“What do you mean?” Brice asked, looking at Carter, who was looking at Clovis.
“I mean everyone who doesn’t own their property is finding out that the bank in town has sold their property to someone else. Who that person is, no one can figure out.”
“What about you, Adam?” Brice asked, concerned.
“Oh, me and my brothers own this building and the plot of land it sits on, but the acreage around it was sold last month to some hotshot firm in New York. Look, boys, I don’t know what’s going, but someone is buying quite a bit of property in these parts. I heard the other day that Perkins Construction—you know Big Jim—well, his crew just got the bid to build a multimillion dollar building and a housing community about twenty miles west of Celestial,” Adam said.
“That’s between here and Celestial. That land is private. The ranchers own it,” Carter stated and then took a drink.
“That’s what I thought, but when I talked to the Quinns, they said that land was for sale,” Adam replied.
“Well someone owns it now,” Brice muttered, then asked, “Are you sure no one knows who this high roller is?”
“No clue,” Adam advised. “And that’s not all. I was out the other day, coming back from Celestial, and I ran into this guy. He is a mineralogist. He was taking samples and surveying the surrounding area.”
“Well, he’s in for a shock. The mineral rights belong to the town.” Carter grinned.
“That’s right, but this person is buying up a whole lot of the town. It started with Hazel’s place, then Meyer’s General Store, Van’s place, and from what I heard from Tomas, the library and the bank also have new owners.”
“Janie’s gonna flip. She was waiting for the city council to dish out the funding to rebuild the library. If they sold the land, I can guarantee whoever owns it isn’t going to rebuild the library,” Brice said.
“Look, boys, all I know is that someone is buying up every piece of property that isn’t owned. Whoever it is knows what they are doing, and he or she is doing it legally. They are only buying property that is legally free or property that still being paid on,” Adam said as the door to the bar flew open.
Brice turned as Henry and Drake Weston walked in, and from the looks on their faces, they were pissed.
“What the hell. I thought you boys were in Denver?” Adam asked, handing the identical brothers each a longneck bottle. No one said anything as the brothers quickly downed their bottles then sat.
“We were, until we were notified that Spirit Cove is no longer ours. Someone bought it, and we were also served with a thirty-day eviction notice, saying that our store was not conducive to the new owner’s policies. We have thirty days to sell everything and be out,” the oldest, Henry, said. “If you don’t mind, Adam, I’d like another one.”
“Sure, Henry. On the house. In fact, the bar is closed. Drinks are on me fellas.”
For the next hour, Brice listened as Carter, Adam, Henry, and Drake talked about what was going on around Treasure Cove. He didn’t mind the gossip and knew he should have been paying more attention, but his thoughts kept creeping back to Vanessa. He wondered if she was all right and what she was planning to do. Brice hated the thought of seeing her leave, wishing she would stay. But most of all, he wished she would lower her defenses and allow him and his friends to get to know her better.
Since the barbeque, she was all he could think about. She plagued his days, making it virtually impossible to get any work done, but the nights were the worst. He would lie alone in bed and think about her. If and when he finally did fall asleep, she would come to him in his dreams.
When he and his friends first spotted the beautiful shop owne
r, they thought for sure she was married or at least had a boyfriend. Therefore, when Brice heard that she was single, he was rather surprised. He couldn’t understand how someone as beautiful as the luscious Vanessa Sanchez could be single. However, knowing what he did now, he could sympathize with why she would shy away from personal relationships. Not everyone wanted someone that was scared and not perfect.
Brice really hated that word…perfect. Nothing was perfect in this world. Hell, even Leonardo de Vinci complained that he wasn’t happy when he finished the Mona Lisa. Yet, it hung in a museum as one of the world’s masterpieces.
How no one had snatched her up yet was beyond him, because she was absolutely perfect in his world. No other compared, and if by the grace of God he and his friends were given the chance to show Vanessa just how perfect she was, he would not pass up the chance.
“Well we better get going. It was nice chatting with y’all. Henry, Drake, if either of you need anything, call. Let’s go, Brice,” Carter said getting up, bringing Brice out of his daydream. Getting to his feet, he nodded, said his good-byes, and threw a hundred dollar bill on the table.
“Hey, I said the drinks were on the house,” Adam stated, picking the bill up.
“Give it to the waitress then.” Brice smiled.
“Will do.” Adam, grinned. “You guys take it easy. See ya later.”
The ride home from the Rawhide Bar was quiet, and Brice was thankful for that. He and Carter had learned some pretty interesting stuff that was going on, and at that moment, all Brice cared about was Vanessa. He didn’t know where she had sped off to, and he only hoped she was okay. Thinking he would give her a call when they got home, he was startled when he heard Carter shout as an oncoming car clipped them.
Chapter Eight
The sun was shining as Vanessa slowly opened her eyes. Her body ached, and she had one hell of a migraine thumping in her head. Looking around the room, it didn’t take her long to realize that she wasn’t in her own bed. Though comfortable, the bed was bigger than hers and was much more spacious. The room was muted with shades of blue and gray, not her cheerful mauves and yellows. The window was free from drapery, letting the full effect of the mountain view in. The furniture was a light wood, not her cheap iron bed from and hand-me-down relics she was able to find rummaging through yard sales and thrift markets. No, this room spoke of money and class, not the five and dime she had grown accustomed to.
Slowly sitting up, she winced. Something was wrong with her foot. Throwing back the covers, she saw that her right foot was wrapped in an ace bandage. The only problem was that she didn’t remember hurting herself, or how she got here. Swinging her foot over to the side, she tried putting a little pressure on her foot and screamed out as pain shot up her leg. The loud noise made her head hurt more, and when she went to touch her forehead, she felt the bandage.
Just then, the door flung open and in walked one of her dreams. She gasped at his striking good looks, his golden-blonde hair a mess. He was dressed in coveralls, and his face, though handsome, was marked with grease. She said nothing as he grabbed for a rag attached to his belt and hurriedly began wiping his hands.
“Good afternoon, beautiful. How are you feeling?” he asked, but Vanessa couldn’t respond. Dumbstruck by his entrancing smile and sky-blue eyes, she swore he was made for Hollywood, not for dirt and grime. He was definitely a pretty boy, and Vanessa felt underdressed and out of her league looking at him. Regardless, she knew his smile and pretty face. She just didn’t know why he was here. “Cat got your tongue?”
Grinning, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Carter. That was rather rude, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t worry, beautiful. It’s all good. Besides, you’re good for my ego.” He winked and then wiggled his eyebrows. Pulling a chair from the wall, he placed it next to the bed and sat. Typically uneasy around men like him, Vanessa found herself giddy and at ease. He was very confident, and she liked that. She had dated her fair share of pretty boys when she was in the military, and they all ended badly. There was nothing worse dating a guy who thought they were more attractive than her. She wasn’t saying she was the shit, but damn, would it have killed them to acknowledge her instead of admiring themselves in the mirror?
“How did I get here?” she asked when he picked up her hurt foot and placed it in his lap. Barely touching her ankle, the heat from his hand soothed her, almost taking the pain away.
“Well, Van, you hit Brice and me as we were headed home. Oh, don’t worry, we’re fine, but you, on the other hand, have a nasty bump on your head and you sprained your ankle pretty bad when you tried to kick your door open. Brice called Doc and he checked you out, but he said you’re to stay off this foot for a couple of days.”
Vanessa didn’t remember hitting anyone, but she did know why she was in her car as she remembered her shop and why she was headed home. Her breath hitched and before she realized it, and then she was crying. Never prone to dramatics, she typically kept herself reserved and in control, but faced with the fact of having nothing, well, there was only so much a girl could take. To make matters worse, she was in a bed with the good-looking Carter James holding her foot, in a house she didn’t know, and her car was assumedly stuck somewhere on some damn road. Her world was spiraling out of control, and she didn’t know what to do. She had no way of getting a hold of Mr. Summerfield, even if he still wanted to talk to her. If she didn’t find him soon, she was going to lose her shop and everything she loved.
“Hey,” Carter whispered, wiping her tears away with his dirty rag. “It’s going to be all right, Vanessa, you’ll see.”
“No it’s not.” She turned away, sobbing opening now. “I’m going to lose everything if I can’t get back to town. Everything. I can’t do this anymore. I am so tired of moving. Just leave me alone,” she cried, plopping back against the pillows, burying her face in its softness. She felt Carter place her foot back on the bed or heard him leave the room. She was just grateful to be alone. She hated crying in front of people, and besides, she wanted to wallow in her own misery, and she sure as hell didn’t need an audience to do it.
Sometime later, Vanessa couldn’t take lying down anymore. Throwing back the blankets, she tried once again to stand, and though the pain was still evident, it wasn’t as bad. Looking around the room, she found her prosthetic leg leaning against the nightstand next to her, and within minutes, she had it attached. Shifting her weight, she stood. She managed to find her clothes and get dressed. Thank god she was wearing her Baby Phat jumpsuit instead of jeans. Reaching for the lightweight jacket, she put it on and zipped it up, then headed for the door.
The house was quiet as she hobbled her way down the long hallway. She had been here only once before, and for the life of her she didn’t remember this place being so damn big. Of course, the last time she was here, she was carried in and hauled straight to the bathroom. However, nothing could have prepared her for when she entered a large living room connected to a very spacious kitchen.
“Oh my God.”
Vanessa had been to New York City enough to know when she was around money, and as she surveyed and cataloged every piece of furniture around her, she knew she was knee-deep in it. From the Chanel drapery to the eighteenth-century writing desk, everywhere she looked she was surrounded by wonderful pieces of furniture. However, nothing compared to the painting above the fireplace. Moving closer, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It couldn’t be. The painting needed to be a museum instead of a house. Nevertheless, she stood before one of Jackson Pollack’s paintings and gawked.
It was a masterpiece.
Turning, she entered the kitchen, and it was no less the same quality as the rest of the house. Lined with marble counter tops, stainless steel appliances, a double oven, with a stone pizza oven against the far wall, including an extensive wine cabinet. The cabinets were open, and everything in them neat and in its place. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling as four stools lined the bar. Whoever designed this kitchen love
d to cook. Thank goodness, because she would probably burn the place to the ground if they asked her to do anything. Nope, her specialty flowed around decorating and fashion. Of course, she wouldn’t change a damn thing in the living room, nor the room she was in, because everything was just perfect as it was. Somehow, in a way, she felt at home here, because if this were her space, she would have picked the exact same furniture, right down to the Tiffany lamps that adorned the side tables.
The back door slammed, and she jumped, turning around quickly. She winced as she inadvertently put pressure on her ankle, and grabbed for the counter, before she fell. Strong arms came around her, and before she knew it, she was being lifted into the air and placed on one of the stools. Looking up, her breath hitched.
Holy God in heaven, it’s the big one!
His tanned, muscular body surrounded her. With his jet-black hair and soft baby-blue eyes he looked down at her, and for one second, she thought she actually came in her panties. Before she could say anything, the silent brooding one walked in, and this time, she did come.
Holy fuck!
The serious one was just as tall as the other, with dark-brown hair, green eyes, and brooding look. Both men were wearing coveralls with white wife-beaters underneath. Their hands were greasy, and though they smelled heavenly, they looked as if they had been under a car for the last couple of hours.
The slamming of the front door had her immediately turning, as the last man walked in. Only this time, it was that last one, the pretty boy, who only an hour ago was sitting before her rubbing her sore ankle. Before her were three of the most drop-dead gorgeous men on planet earth. If ever Aphrodite and Hercules were to have had children, it would have been these three men. They were all extremely muscular and tanned, standing well above six foot, with devilishly good looks. She found herself touching her face as it heated. She knew she was blushing ten shades of scarlet, but damn, these men were hot! How she didn’t see that before she would never know. Oh, she knew they were good-looking, but her personal life overrode everything. Now, sitting before them, she got herself a real look, and she was thoroughly impressed.
Joyce, Rebecca - Her Dirty Mechanics [The Men of Treasure Cove 12] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 7
