Dinner had been as delectable as it was exquisitely presented, and then there was the “viewing of the stars.” From a private fourth-floor balcony, Rand had set up a telescope and shown them constellations she’d never heard of, much less known how to find in the night sky. The boys were mesmerized and asked a hundred different questions, for which Rand had known the answers or promised to read until he discovered them.
She yawned as she sat by the hearth, the sumptuous meal and enjoyable evening bringing contentment she hadn’t felt in a long time.
She hated to admit it, knowing what type of man Brandon Tolliver was, but Tolliver was sitting on a gold mine. He’d built a magnificent property in one of the most beautiful places in the country, with amenities that rivaled any she’d heard of or read about. She’d underestimated the boon the resort would bring to Timber Ridge—to the businesses and trades, to the community as a whole. And perhaps, if all went as planned, for her ranch as well.
As Mr. Westin had pointed out, more people meant an increased demand for beef, which she would be able to provide. She hoped.
The main door to the suite opened and she turned, expecting to see Miss Valente. But—as if her thoughts had summoned him— Brandon Tolliver strode toward her instead. She rose from her chair, glancing to see if Rand had noticed. He wasn’t looking her way.
“Mr. Tolliver. How are you this evening?”
“Extremely busy, Mrs. Boyd.” He glanced around. His focus snagged on Rand and the boys. “Having a little family gathering, are we?”
In that instant, Rachel wondered whether Rand had told Tolliver about their activities at the resort that evening. On the chance he hadn’t, she didn’t want to be the one to alert him. Yet she didn’t want to lie. . . .
“I asked Dr. Brookston to show the boys where he and I conducted the surgery on Mr. Mullins, and he was kind enough—”
“He and I?” he repeated, a sardonic grin tipping his mouth. “I didn’t realize you were trained in the medicines, Mrs. Boyd.”
Her face heated. “That’s not what I—”
“No doubt there are a great many things you fail to realize, Tolliver,” Rand said, appearing at her side. His smile—cool, detached—was not one Rachel recognized. “Mrs. Boyd did a great service to Ben Mullins, and to me. I couldn’t have conducted the surgery on my own, as I’ve told you before.”
Tolliver stared, his expression changing from cynical to amused. “I trust you enjoyed—or are enjoying—your private little soirée?”
Rand tensed beside her. “Yes, we are. Very much.”
Rubbing his jaw, Tolliver slowly looked between them, as though trying to ascertain the nature of their relationship. Rachel grew uncomfortable beneath his attention.
Rand shifted his weight. “Is there something I can do for you, Tolliver? Or is this one of your rare social calls.”
Rachel blinked, surprised to hear Rand speak so bluntly to the man who was, in effect, his employer. But Tolliver didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his grin said he was enjoying the exchange.
“My purpose in stopping by is twofold, Doctor. I want to confirm that you’re going to be here Saturday. I’ve got a group of men coming in for the grand opening who are eager to meet you. I’d like for you to tell them about the surgery you performed and provide a tour of the facility. Give them a good show, so to speak.”
Looking slightly ill, Rand nodded.
“And secondly, I want to make sure that the understanding we reached regarding Mr. Mullins’s recuperation—which is stretching my patience, mind you—is still intact.”
Rand nodded. “It is. I’m planning on moving Mr. Mullins back to his home as soon as he’s able. By Monday at the latest.”
“Monday?” Tolliver shook his head. “I said through tomorrow, Brookston.”
“I agreed to Friday if Ben’s condition warranted him being moved, which it doesn’t. I made it clear to you that—”
“Come Saturday morning, I need this medical facility cleaned and in order, ready to be toured.”
A muscle tensed in Rand’s jaw. “Mr. Mullins has experienced some minor setbacks. He’s not as strong as I expected him to be at this stage, and it’s inadvisable for him to be moved right now.”
“Take my carriage.” Tolliver gestured as if the matter were settled. “Just be sure and have it back here by Saturday morning at six o’clock.”
Rand didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying to you. If I try to transport Ben now, especially with the roads the way they are—”
“I understand your predicament, Brookston. But you need to understand mine. I’m running a resort here. Not a hospital. And certainly not some two-bit, bleeding-heart—pardon the pun in this instance—clinic that exists to serve the masses.”
Rand fisted his hands, and Rachel moved closer to him, hoping he wouldn’t do anything rash. Especially with the boys watching.
“Look around you, Doctor,” Tolliver continued, his arm sweeping the space. “All of this was built with money belonging to some very powerful men. And those men arrive Saturday morning to see what I’ve done with that money. And—I’ll leave it up to you as to how you get it done—Mr. Mullins is not to be here when they arrive.”
Silence stretched the seconds.
Rachel saw movement from the corner of her eye. Mitch and Kurt stood by the microscope, confusion on their faces. Kurt took a step forward, but Rachel shook her head ever so slightly. He stopped.
Rand took a deep breath. “Are there any rooms available at the resort this weekend? I’ll pay for Ben and Lyda to stay here, if that’s what it takes.”
Tolliver laughed, then shook his head. “Don’t forget, Doctor, I know how much you make. And believe me, you can’t afford it.” He turned and was almost to the door when Rand called his name. He looked back.
“I know this weekend is important to you, Tolliver.” Rand’s voice was surprisingly even and controlled. Too controlled, considering Tolliver’s blatant disregard for Ben. “The only thing we have to determine now is how important.”
Tolliver’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly what does that mean?”
Rachel watched Rand, eager to know the answer to that question herself.
“It means that I’m assuming you’d be disappointed if these visitors were unable to meet the physician who performed the revolutionary surgery conducted right here in your very own resort. I’m guessing they’ve already received copies of that special edition of your newspaper.”
Rachel cringed at the sarcasm in Rand’s tone, and even more at the hardening in Tolliver’s expression. She got the distinct feeling there was an entirely different conversation going on than the one she was listening to.
Tolliver retraced his steps. “I suggest you tread carefully, Dr. Brookston. I have a long memory, and I’m a very influential man in this town.”
A smile crept over Rand’s expression, calm and unfazed. “And may I suggest you do the same, Tolliver. I’m the only physician within a fifty-seven-mile radius.”
29
Rachel couldn’t believe the transformation in Ben and Lyda’s store, and in such a short period of time. Beside her, Lyda scooted closer and tucked her hand through the crook of Rachel’s arm.
“What do you think?” Lyda whispered, a watery smile in her eyes, and in her voice.
“I think you and Ben and Mr. Westin have done an extraordinary job, Lyda.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “And that Ben’s going to be very pleased when he comes home and sees it.”
Lyda’s eyes brightened, though not enough to erase the veil of concern clouding her features. While Ben hadn’t suffered another heart episode or other setback in recent days, he also wasn’t gaining strength as they’d hoped. Prior to the resort’s grand opening last Saturday, Brandon Tolliver had demanded, for a second time, that Ben be removed from the Health Suite. Rand had flatly refused, according to Lyda, and had taken pride in introducing Ben to the important hotel investors as they toured the
medical facilities. Ben felt honored beyond words at the attention, answering questions posed to him about the surgery and the resort’s medical accommodations. But mostly, he appreciated Rand standing up to the likes of Brandon Tolliver on his behalf.
“Every afternoon for the past week,” Lyda said, “Mr. Westin has stopped by the Health Suite to give Ben an update on the store. He describes the progress the workers have made. He even drew a sketch of the new counter over there so Ben could picture it exactly as it is.” She shook her head. “This is what I’ve been after Ben to do for years.” She let out a breath, her expression giving way to the grief she tried hard to hide. “But I’d give every bit of it up—this store, everything we own, today, right this minute—if Ben could be made whole again. If I could keep him with me.”
Rachel slipped her arm around Lyda’s waist. “I know you would, and Ben knows it too. But let him do this for you, Lyda.” She leaned closer. “And try to take pleasure in it . . . for his sake. The happiness he’s getting in doing this for you is giving him such joy.”
The next day, Rachel saw the boys to school, then spent the morning feeding the animals, milking the cow, and mucking out the stalls. Charlie arrived midmorning and helped her lay fresh straw and tote water from the stream. Quiet and somewhat sullen, he rode to check on the cattle as she gathered eggs and set two loaves of bread to rising.
That afternoon, back aching and with her fingernails still stained from barn work despite repeated washings, Rachel met the boys after school and walked them the short distance to James and Molly’s house. Molly had agreed to watch them while she met with Mr. Westin.
Important decisions awaited, ones Rachel wasn’t sure she was ready to make.
She made a brief stop by the general store to check the basket she’d left beside the front doors on the boardwalk. With Rand’s help, she’d fashioned a rustic wooden sign with the inscription Notes of Encouragement for Ben and Lyda Mullins and they’d hung it above. Without fail, each day the basket held a collection of letters and notes. Today was no exception. Rachel tucked them into her reticule to deliver later.
True to young Elijah’s word, the warmer weather once again found Miss Clara’s cafe situated beneath the canopy of the ancient ponderosa pine. Miss Clara’s cast-iron stove skulked black and smoky beside the familiar array of mismatched tables, most of them already occupied, their blue-and-white-checkered cloths fluttering in the breeze. How comforting the simple routines of life often were, and how sweet.
Rachel spotted Edward Westin seated and waiting. He rose as she approached and held out her chair.
“You’re early, Mr. Westin.”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “As are you, Mrs. Boyd.”
She smiled. “I’m always early when I’m nervous.”
His expression held playful reproof. “No need to be nervous. As we discussed, I’m simply going to lay out the options available to you and let you decide. I have no financial stake whatsoever in the matter. I’m merely a liaison between a very intelligent and capable rancher”—he nodded in her direction—“and a former business partner of mine back east. Your decision is completely and utterly your own.”
Rachel felt a jitter. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or only contributes to my nerves.”
He laughed and nodded when Miss Clara came by with a pot of hot coffee.
“It’s still a mite early, so dinner’s not ready,” Miss Clara said, “but I’ll bring hot corn bread as soon as it’s done.”
Nodding his thanks, Mr. Westin withdrew a stack of papers from his satchel beside his chair. “I’ve worked the figures on your behalf, Mrs. Boyd, as you requested, based on the information you provided and . . .”
Listening, Rachel spotted James seated at a table on the opposite side of the cafe, near the stove. She discreetly tilted her head to the side, wanting to see who he was—
Rand. He was with Rand. Odd . . . She’d seen Rand last evening, and he hadn’t said a word about getting together with James today. Not that he had to tell her his schedule, but James was her brother, and it only seemed—
“So you can see from the figures here, Mrs. Boyd . . .”
Rachel quickly readjusted her focus.
“. . . that you do indeed have enough capital for this venture if you’re willing to sell your current herd and take out a manageable loan for the remainder of the investment. My former partner’s willing to personally underwrite your loan, in fact.”
That got her attention, as did Mr. Westin’s detailed financial analysis. “And, by chance, does this former partner realize to whom he’s making the loan?”
“I don’t quite know what you mean, ma’am.”
Recalling what Mr. Fossey had said about how the bank’s investors would feel more secure if she were married, she felt she had to ask. “Does he understand that I’m a widow? Unmarried?”
Westin’s head tilted in acknowledgment. “He understands your situation, yes. And his willingness to make the loan is based in part on the market value of your land—the section not currently being held as collateral by the bank here, of course. As well as on the personal reference Mr. Fossey penned himself on your behalf. It was a stellar reference, Mrs. Boyd.”
Rachel stared, letting that sink in. “That was very kind of him.”
“I assure you, while Gilbert Fossey is kind, he’s also an excellent judge of character in relation to evaluating potential risks. You qualified for the loan on your own merit, though I feel sure your dealings with the bank here, as well as those of your late husband, influenced the final outcome. Gilbert has spoken most highly of your late husband to me, Mrs. Boyd. Of you both,” he said softly.
He said nothing for a moment, seeming slightly uncomfortable, then returned his attention to the papers on the table. “Now . . . in the event you decide not to purchase the Scottish Highlanders and choose to continue with your current operation, I’ve taken the liberty of working those figures as well. As you can see . . .”
Touched by what Mr. Westin had said about Thomas, and still mulling over Mr. Fossey’s generous reference, Rachel picked James’s laughter out of the crowd and was tempted to look over again. But instead, she made herself follow the column of figures down the page as Mr. Westin pointed to and explained each one.
Miss Clara brought dinner, and they continued to discuss business as they ate. Rachel chanced another look across the cafe, glad to find James and Rand still there, though neither gave any indication of seeing her. Whatever the two were discussing now, they seemed deep in conversation. Rand’s expression was especially serious. Her imagination led her down a very short path in regard to the reason behind their meeting, and the singular conclusion she reached might’ve tempted her to smile if it hadn’t nearly scared her to death.
The more time she spent with Rand, the more she wanted to spend. They were compatible in so many ways, and Mitchell adored him. Kurt did too, although Kurt was still a touch reserved around him. Rand was so different from Thomas, and she couldn’t keep from comparing them. She was the same woman. And yet, at times, she felt like someone completely different when she was with Rand.
And odd as it sounded, even to her, she liked that woman.
Rand hadn’t tried to kiss her again since that night at the clinic, which was probably for the best . . . she guessed. Still, she hadn’t gone out of her way to discourage him.
A boisterous party of miners arrived and claimed two tables near the center of the outdoor cafe, which blocked her view of James and Rand. Taking the obstruction as a reminder of why she was here, Rachel pulled her focus back and concentrated on giving Mr. Westin her full and undivided attention, certain he hadn’t noticed.
Enjoying Miss Clara’s signature fried chicken and creamed potatoes, she reviewed the different scenarios Mr. Westin had so thoroughly researched on her behalf, and one thing became clear. She had to make a change. Either risk making the investment and buy the Scottish Highlanders, or decide to sell. Doing nothing wasn�
�t an option. And neither was purchasing more of the same cattle— not with how the harsh Colorado winters were picking them off one by one.
If Mr. Westin’s calculations were right—and she had no reason to believe they weren’t—if she made no changes, then within two years, and perhaps sooner if faced with another winter like the past one, the ranch would be bankrupt.
“Are there any questions I haven’t answered, Mrs. Boyd?”
Rachel sighed, her mind swirling. “I’m sure I’ll think of some after I leave, but none for now. You’ve been very thorough. All I need is time to think things through . . . to pray things through.”
“I understand completely.” He leaned a little closer. “And frankly, I would’ve been disappointed if you’d answered any other way.”
She stood, gathering her reticule, and glanced back across the cafe. James and Rand’s table was empty. She scanned the surrounding area for them. Gone. Disappointment trickled through her, though she told herself it was foolish. Still, they might have at least said hello.
She reached inside her reticule for her change purse.
“Please, allow me,” Westin said, tucking the bills beside his empty plate. “Which way are you headed, Mrs. Boyd?”
Thanking him, she motioned in the direction of James and Molly’s house, and he fell into step beside her.
“The question you asked me before, ma’am . . . about whether my colleague knew that you’re an unmarried woman.” He eyed her with some humor. “I presume you’ve been encouraged by someone to enter into marriage again before seeking another loan?”
Rachel looked over at him, matching his smile. “They didn’t exactly encourage it, but yes, the suggestion was made that I would stand a better chance of being approved if I had a husband.”
Nodding, he looked ahead. “I’ll take a shot in the dark here, but I’m guessing that suggestion didn’t go over very well with you. Nor would I expect it to. After having been married to the love of your life, I can’t begin to fathom marrying again only for the sake of a business partnership.”
Within My Heart Page 28
