High Desert Cowboy (High Sierra Book 2)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Very well, she thought with determination as she continued to pace. She owned a ranch that was mortgaged to the gills. A ranch she had absolutely no idea how to run. Staffed with men who would not listen to her even if she did know what to tell them.

  Not only that, but the goat was sick.

  A feeling of impending doom filled her. She was so alone. And it all rested on her shoulders.

  For the next three days, she poured over John’s ledgers searching for some clue as to his intentions. A map she could follow. Anything.

  Just as her despair had grown to the breaking point, Mr. Palmer was led into the den by Consuela. The older woman shot her a concerned look that let Rebecca know things were not good. She noticed that Consuela didn’t leave her alone with the man, instead, stepping to stand by the window.

  Rebecca turned to the cowboy. At least he had the manners to remove his hat, she noticed.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  The man stared at her for a moment with cold eyes. “It’s payday. We thought you might not know about it. So, thought I’d remind you.”

  Her stomach fell. She had no idea. The man’s smirk indicated he was enjoying pointing out her lack of knowledge.

  How was she to pay these men? And what of supplies? Just yesterday she had noticed Consuela pulling flour from the bottom of the bin. A sense of shame filled her, she couldn’t even run a household, let alone a ranch.

  Sighing, she said, “Of course, Mr. Palmer. I will need to go to the bank. Please have someone prepare the wagon.”

  He nodded, “Who do you want to drive you?”

  No, Ma’am. No indication of any respect. To him, she was a helpless female. Something without worth.

  “I will drive myself, Mr. Palmer.”

  His eyebrow rose in surprise.

  “I assure you, Mr. Palmer, I can drive a wagon. Please see to having it made ready.” She then turned to Consuela, silently dismissing him. She could see it in his eyes, he didn’t like being told what to do, but he finally turned and left.

  “I don’t like that one,” Consuela said with a bitterness that made her smile.

  Rebecca smiled an understanding smile then said, “If I am going into town. Are there supplies you need. Perhaps you could prepare a list.”

  Consuela nodded vigorously as she left to check the larder.

  Rebecca didn’t really notice. She had already started planning out what she would say to the banker. And perhaps, maybe if she was lucky, she might run into Dusty Rhodes. The thought sent a shock of hope through her. More than she would have anticipated.

  She rose and searched the armoire and removed her best dress. The light blue one that fit so well. The latest fashion from Paris. Its matching hat was beautiful, but not very helpful. The paired parasol, however, would work perfectly.

  The long ride into town was uneventful. The horse was well trained and there was no traffic. It was impossible to get lost. The trail only went one place. All she had to do was head south and down the slope and she would end up in Reno.

  Once she entered town however, her stomach churned with nervousness. Several women scowled openly. As if they had never seen a lady dressed in a fashionable dress driving a wagon. Was it jealousy? she wondered. Or disdain?

  Gripping the reins tightly, she pulled up in front of the bank. Several cowboys loafing across the street in front of the feed store looked as if they’d seen a fish swimming up main street.

  Well, they were just going to have to get used to it, she thought. She refused to lower her standards just because cretins didn’t know better.

  Getting down from the wagon was not easy. She was sure she looked ridiculous, twisting three different ways to make sure she didn’t rip a seam or show an ankle. But finally, she made it to solid ground and adjusted her dress without being obvious about it.

  Once she had let the horse drink from a trough, she tied him off and stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the bank. As she reached for the front doorknob, it was pulled open away from her, almost making her trip.

  She gasped with surprise. Tad Johnson, the Ladder S owner, stood there, looking down at her with a deep scowl. A cold shiver ran down her back. Did he always look like that? she wondered. As if he were angry at the world and blamed it for everything.

  “Miss Carson,” he said with a slight nod and a hint of evil in his eyes.

  “Mr. Johnson,” she replied while she waited for him to move out of her way.

  He hesitated for a moment then stepped back and held the door for her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” she said with the best smile she could muster. She didn’t like this man. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. She didn’t like the stories Dusty had told her. Buthe was a neighbor. And not a man to upset.

  Politics, her father had taught her, was the art of making the fewest people angry. Or better yet, the fewest, powerful people.

  She took a deep breath and tried to settle her nerves. Mr. Johnson had set them on edge. Exactly the opposite of what she needed at the moment. Everything depended upon the next few minutes.

  The only teller raised an eyebrow when he saw her. Good, she thought. At least someone had some sense.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the man. “But I need to see someone in charge.”

  The teller frowned for a moment.

  “I’m Miss Rebecca Carson, owner of the C-Bar.”

  She watched as awareness washed over his face. He swallowed then indicated that she should follow him. The teller led her to a glass-enclosed office with a heavyset man in a three-piece suit and a serious look.

  “Miss Carson, Mr. Peabody,” the teller said as way of introduction.

  The banker rose, a curious frown on his face. He indicated the chair across from his desk then waited until she was seated before sitting down himself.

  Rebecca slowly removed her gloves as she gathered herself. This man held the fate of the ranch in his hands. Taking a deep breath, she placed her gloves in her lap and said, “If you didn’t know. I am John Carson’s sister.”

  The banker nodded. “Yes Miss, I had heard you had arrived from Philadelphia. How is your brother?”

  Her heart fell.

  “I believe he is dead,” she said as she bit down to stop from sounding too afraid. “Which, I believe by the papers I have seen that I am now the owner of the C-Bar. The deed lists me as an owner and a copy of John’s will states that I am to have the ranch.”

  The banker’s eyes opened wide then quickly shifted over to a neutral look. This man would have fared well in the boardrooms of Philadelphia, she realized. A born negotiator, a trader. With all the seriousness expected in a man who dealt with other people’s money.

  “You said, believed?”

  Rebecca sighed but refused to look away. “He left the ranch twelve days ago and has not been seen since.”

  The banker continued to frown. “Are you …”

  “I know my brother,” Rebecca interrupted. “He would not abandon his ranch.”

  The man across from her nodded slowly, obviously, he had the same impression of John. Once again that neutral look returned.

  “I am sorry Miss Carson. Your brother seemed like a good man with forward thinking ideas. I truly hoped he would be able to make a success of the C-Bar.”

  Rebecca pushed down the sadness inside of her. She could not, would not, play the weak female. That would only lead to failure.

  “Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately, I am in need of funds to pay my staff and obtain supplies. I believe John had established a line of credit with your bank.”

  Mr. Peabody pulled his hands together and tapped his lips. “Yes, your brother did.”

  Rebecca sighed internally, the way he said ‘your brother’ led her to believe this was going to be like climbing a mountain. One false step and she would fall to the bottom.

  “I wish to draw on that line of credit,” she said as she held his stare.

  The banker’s brow furrowed for a moment.
“The line of credit was with your brother, Miss Carson. And as your brother is no longer with us. I will not be able to extend any more funds. The bank has already pushed the limit of what is wise. With no one to run the C-Bar. There is every possibility that we will not receive a payment on the outstanding debt. I will not throw good money after bad.”

  “In fact,” he said then paused for a moment. “In fact, I will have to call in the entire loan. The original deal was to have it paid off over the next three years. But if your brother is dead. Then the loan must be paid in full.”

  Her heart sank as an anger began to build inside of her. “I will run the C-Bar. I assure you, Mr. Peabody. You will be paid eventually.”

  He shook his head slowly. “A bank cannot exist for long on eventually.”

  She bit back the angry words that threatened to explode. It wasn’t just this man. It was losing her father. Robert abandoning her at the altar, leaving everything she knew. John missing. And now this man was telling her that he wouldn’t extend the arrangement he had with John because she was a woman and would be unable to achieve success.

  “Mr. Peabody,” she said as she took a calming breath. “As you say, the bank has invested in our ranch. Surely you don’t wish to see that investment lost. A small amount of funds now would go a long way to the C-Bar succeeding.”

  The banker shrugged his shoulders. His cold, calculating eyes studied her for a moment. “Miss Carson, you don’t believe I would loan out that much money without some collateral. That is not how business works.”

  Her stomach curled up into a tight ball. She could see it in his eyes. He was almost enjoying this. She held her breath waiting for what he said next. She knew what was coming and it terrified her.

  “According to the agreement I had with your brother. The first loan payment was due in …” here he opened a large green ledger next to him and ran his finger down the page. “In six weeks and two days. I will give you that time to obtain the necessary funds to repay the entire loan.”

  She cringed. It was worse than she had thought. How could she possibly get that much money? If she sold Royal Prince, she doubted she would get half of what John had paid for him. And even if she received a good price, it wouldn’t be enough.

  She had so little jewelry left, and what she had wouldn’t pay for a month’s worth of supplies.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Carson,” the banker said with a fake frown. “Perhaps you might be able to sell the ranch. I do know that Mr. Johnson of the Ladder S is interested.”

  “Never,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “It would barely cover the loan and I would be left with nothing.”

  “Your choice,” he said with another shrug of his shoulders. “But I can assure you, we will repossess in six weeks and two days. That includes all property, furnishings, and stock, including Royal Prince.”

  Rebecca bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying. She would not give this man the pleasure of seeing her as weak and ineffectual.

  “Very well,” she said as she stood up and started to pull on her gloves. “You, Mr. Peabody, have made a mistake. A serious mistake.”

  He frowned at her, obviously having difficulty understanding where he had failed. Either he got the money or the ranch. Either way, he would make a profit.

  “I might not know very much about ranching,” she said as she tightened her glove. “But I do know about business.”

  The banker scowled slightly, as if doubting her.

  “I will pay back the loan,” she said as she looked directly into his eyes. “And then I will take my business elsewhere. I don’t care if I have to go to San Francisco for my banking. It won’t be here.”

  The banker shrugged, obviously not concerned about losing her business.

  “And then,” she continued, “I will suggest to my contacts in Philadelphia that they open a bank here. I know of several that have been looking for business opportunities out west. With the way this bank is administered, they will have no problem undercutting you and draining away your customers.”

  It pleased her heart to see his face turn beet red with anger.

  “Good day, Mr. Peabody,” she said as she turned. “Don’t get up. I will show myself out.”

  The man behind her sputtered with rage, but she ignored him as she lifted her chin and glided out of the bank. There was no need for him to see the fear and worry churning inside of her. How was she ever to save her ranch?

  Chapter Twelve

  Dusty Rhodes thought of the two hundred dollars in his pocket he’d built up over the last two weeks at the poker tables. He glanced up at the ceiling as he tried to figure out how long he could make it last before he had to go find a job.

  As he tried to do long division in his head, his friend Hank Richards interrupted his figuring.

  “Thinking of doing some prospecting,” Hank said as he took a sip of beer. “Going out on my own. Maybe up in the High Sierra, out past Verdi.”

  Grunting, Dusty withheld any comment. The man was bigger than a small house, with arms the size of railroad ties and a temper just this side of the devil’s. He’d learned long ago not to call the man an idiot. Even if he believed that prospecting was a stupid idea. It would just lead to going down some dark dank hole. But hey, his friend had strange ideas as to what was acceptable.

  Hank’s brow furrowed for a second. “Who put a burr under your saddle?” he asked. “You’ve been ornerier than a three-legged badger ever since you come back from getting that horse.”

  Dusty shrugged. Under no circumstances would he tell the small giant next to him what the problem was.

  A woman. A particularly beautiful woman who had wormed her way into his dreams. A woman out of bounds and out of reach. A woman that made a man want to conquer the world just to prove he could.

  For the first time in his life, he regretted not being more. Not being some rich landowner or a prosperous businessman. Anything but a drifting saddle tramp.

  He could wrestle a steer to the ground. Break a wild bronc, or deliver a breached calf in a thunderstorm. But none of those things would impress a woman like Rebecca Carson. Everything he owned could be rolled up and tied behind his saddle. He was a fair to middlin hand with a gun and could hold his own with a deck of cards. At least against the fools in these parts. But again, not the type of thing Rebecca would want in a man.

  “Come on Dusty,” Hank said. “I’m the sour, grumbly one. Remember? You’re the light, funny one. If you don’t snap out of it, I’m going to have to start telling jokes.”

  Dusty shuddered visibly as he shot his friend a quick frown. “Don’t you dare. You’re as funny as a water moccasin in the bottom of a boat.”

  Hank laughed as he reached over and slapped Dusty on the back.

  Dusty choked on his beer as he fought to keep from being knocked halfway across the room. Hank had a bad habit of doing that. Hitting things harder than they needed.

  He wiped away the beer he’d spilled when a disturbance up front caught his attention. Mack, the bartender gasped as his jaw dropped open like a beached bass.

  Dusty followed his gaze and choked again. Impossible. Miss Rebecca Carson was walking into the Red Grove like she owned the place.

  His stomach tightened up like he’d stepped next to a rattler. There was no idea what was going to happen next. Didn’t she know that a lady should never come into a place like this? What was she thinking? She couldn’t be that naive.

  She was dressed in a fancy light blue dress with a small hat to match. Her petticoats rustled as she walked down the long aisle in front of the bar. The tap of her parasol on the floor echoed through the suddenly silent saloon.

  Every eye in the place watched her and more than one mouth dropped open in shock. His gut turned over, she’d be the talk of every cow camp and mine tunnel in the state. Let alone every preacher’s wife. He could see it now, the stories flying through every parlor.

  Two of Rusty Simmons’ girls watched her from t
he bar with evil in their eyes. She was invading their territory. And a woman like her just naturally reminded them of who they were.

  If they’d been cats, they’d have hissed at her.

  “Um … You can’t come in here,” Mack stuttered as he stumbled out from behind his bar.

  Miss Carson stopped and frowned at the bartender, raising an eyebrow. “Why ever not? I didn’t see a sign outside saying ladies were not allowed.”

  Mack stuttered with disbelief. “Ain’t never been no need. Ladies just naturally know what’s best for them.”

  Rebecca waved a hand dismissively. “I will be but a moment.” Then cast about as if looking for someone, all the while making it look like she was inspecting a table setting for a fancy dinner.

  Dusty could only admire the woman. Even in a place like this, she couldn’t be cowed.

  Her face grew determined as she spotted him, “Mr. Rhodes,” she said as she stepped up to their table, pulling at her glove. A gesture she did when she was nervous, he realized.

  Hank glanced up at her, then at Dusty and then back at her. It was as if he had just come into contact with an actual angel and was trying to understand how it was possible.

  Dusty sighed heavily as he stood up and pulled out a chair for her.

  Hank remembered his manners and stood in a half-crouch as he tried to close his open mouth. Dusty laughed inside to himself. He did enjoy seeing his friend shocked.

  She gathered her dress then sat down like a queen taking her throne. That was Rebecca Carson, he thought. Prim and proper, even in a dirty saloon.

  “Miss Rebecca Carson,” Dusty said with his most formal tone. “May I present my best friend, Hank Richards. If you ever need a hole dug or a fight won, he’s the man to see. Hank, this is Miss Rebecca Carson.”

  Hank’s brow furrowed, “The people with that fancy horse?”

  Dusty nodded. “Yes, in fact, Miss Carson and I shared the train for the trip out here.”

  Hank suddenly smiled as an awareness washed over him. “That explains it,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Dusty had to fight to stop himself from kicking his friend under the table.