Table of Contents
THE RANCHER’S CONDITIONS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Table of Contents
THE RANCHER’S CONDITIONS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
THE RANCHER’S CONDITIONS
R.S. CHAPMAN
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
THE RANCHER’S CONDITIONS
Copyright©2017
R.S. CHAPMAN
Cover Design by Syneca Featherstone
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-535-6
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This work is dedicated to Annie,
my wife, my muse, and the Love of my Life,
and my daughters Laurie, Holly, and Jennifer.
Acknowledgments
To Deborah Gilbert, Senior Editor and publisher extraordinaire, thank you for taking my hand and guiding me through the revisions of this book, and working together to make it great. But mostly, because you liked it in the first place.
And to Annie, my Muse, for reading every last draft of it and offering loving critiques.
Chapter 1
Layne Martin groaned softly as she leaned down to unhook the pedal straps binding her shoes in place before gingerly sliding off the unforgiving stationary bike seat. A sore butt and weary legs caused her groan, as did almost every muscle in her body as they screamed for rest. She was sure her legs would take at least an hour to recover, possibly longer before she’d be able to walk.
She unwound the gym towel from the bike’s handlebars and wearily plopped down on a nearby bench, mopping the sweat from her face to stop the flow from running down her neck. The front, back, and shoulder straps of her workout halter were stained dark with perspiration. Glancing around, making sure no unwelcome eyes were watching, she wiped down her neck and as far as was prudent between her breasts, then down the length of her long, slender arms. She lifted her chestnut ponytail and blotted the uncomfortable perspiration trickling down her neck. She’d always thought of herself to be in great shape for a twenty-eight-year-old. What had happened here? Quite possibly, countless hours sitting in the law library studying briefs had finally taken its toll.
It was quiet in the adjacent weight room of the vast Wellness Center, as it usually was this early in the morning. Two young men, glistening with sweat, stood in the doorway, watching intently as Layne blotted herself. One nudged the other. “Check that out,” he said, nodding toward Layne.
“Where the hell did she come from?” his friend exclaimed. “Holy crap, she’s a beauty!” He started to leave the room to approach her, but his buddy grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Best not to go there.”
“Hey,” the young man said, pulling his arm away, “come on! I gotta meet this one!”
“Don’t even think about going there,” the friend warned, gripping his arm again. “She’ll bite your head off and spit you out in tiny chunks. Believe me, I’ve tried. She’s unapproachable.” After a backward glance or two, he turned and walked back into the weight room.
“Any idea what her name is?” the friend asked, casting Layne a final appraisal before catching up with his buddy.
“Never got that far. If you get too close, she’ll give you a warning look. Pay attention to it. Can’t miss it, it’s mean.”
“What a waste. You’re sure she’s unapproachable?”
“Totally,” he replied. “Forget about her.”
Layne’s roommate and co-worker, Barb Meier, joined Layne’s groan as she worked her feet free of the pedal straps and slowly slid off the bike beside hers. She crashed on the same bench and wiped her face, neck, and down her front. “I was hoping it would easier today,” she complained, “but apparently I’ve got a bit longer to wait or a bit harder to work.” She threw the towel over her shoulder and with a weary effort, stood up. “I’m gonna go to the weight room, lift some weights. Maybe that guy is in there.”
“What, somebody new?” Layne asked, leaning to peek into the room.
“A real cutie caught me yesterday, when I lost my balance trying to lift one of those heavy things,” Barb replied.
“I think they’re called dumbbells,” Layne offered dryly.
“Yeah. Dumbbells.” She joined Layne in peeking into the room. “Want to join me? Just remember, he’s mine if he’s in there.”
“What, join you in losing my balance, with the very real possibility of being crushed by a heavy dumbbell, with no chance of getting the guy?” Layne laughed, shaking her head and sending the ponytail swinging. “No, but thanks anyway,” she said, still busy blotting sweat, trying to catch up and stem the flow.
“A couple of cute guys poked their heads out a few minutes ago - I’d hoped they were looking at me, but I’m pretty sure they were looking at you. They backed away from the door rather quickly. They must have seen your defensive scowl,” Barb added. “But there’s usually a few other cute guys in there this time of day. Come on.”
Layne smothered another soft groan, straightening up and stretching her back. “I’m too damn tired. You go ahead, Barb. Besides,” she said and laughed, “my legs are still quivering. Not sure I can walk that far.”
“Awfully cute guys. You’re sure you don’t want to come along?” Barb persisted. “A guy or two in your life wouldn’t hurt, you know.” She paused for a brief moment. “This is the last call for the weight room and all the guys therein. The train’s leavin’.”
“Thanks, but no. No time for guys in this life, believe me,” Layne said, laughing, tapping a finger to her chest. “Besides, I’ve got to get home to clean up and make myself beautiful. You know, you’re still welcome to join me this afternoon? It could be fun. You might even find a few single guys roaming around.”
“Spending the afternoon in the park, sitting at
a table, in the hot sun, surrounded by screaming kids? That falls somewhat short of my idea of fun, but thank you anyway!”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right,” Layne agreed. “Wish I could drop out too, but ol’ Wellington insisted. I have no choice. I’ve got to be there on the outside chance someone might actually want to make a donation.” She adjusted her weight on the narrow bench and stretched her back again. “These are young parents,” she continued, “raising a family. There’s not much money left over.”
“I don’t see how you can make yourself any prettier,” Barb commented, eyeing Layne up and down. “You’re a knockout. I’ve seen more guys that I can count on both hands hurt their necks doing double takes when you walk by, or strain their peripheral vision to the point of popping their eyeballs checking you out.”
“You’ll have to improve your lying skills, Barb, if you ever want to be a really good lawyer. Now get out of here,” Layne said, pointing to the weight room, “and practice your eyelash-batting on those cute guys you’re always talking about.”
Barb shrugged and walked away. Layne watched, knowing very well that her interest was focused on the guys rather than the weights. Layne had politely — well, okay, more often than not, not so politely — fended off more than her share of advances. Her short time at the Wellness Center gym was devoted exclusively to keeping her body slim and trim, not with hopes of attracting and meeting men. A broken engagement in her recent past soured her on the male sex, at least for any time soon. She couldn’t pack quickly enough to get away from the unpleasant memory of her cheating fiancé. And actually, as a recent junior partner in the law practice, she was far too busy to have any decent relationships, regardless of possible temptations.
~ ~ ~
Across the room, resting against a piece of equipment, Erik Rivers watched as Layne wiped the perspiration away. He intently followed the towel as it disappeared between her breasts — Lucky towel! — then down her long legs. He’d attempted to talk with her several days ago, but was met with a disinterested rebuff. And as such, she became a targeted challenge. Rarely did a woman deny Erik Rivers anything. He pushed away from the piece of equipment and started to slowly weave his way through the workout maze to the bench where she was sitting.
Ready to leave, Layne draped the towel around her neck and bent down to tie the lace on a sneaker when she felt someone join her on the bench. She turned and glanced up, expecting Barb to have returned. It was not Barb, however, but instead was the guy who had attempted to strike up a conversation with her a few days before.
“Hi,” Rivers smiled. “Mind if I sit for a minute? I’m beat!”
Layne froze him with a cold smile, sensing another unwelcome encounter coming on. “Unless I’m wrong,” she said, sliding away from the intruder, “you are already sitting. Why bother to ask?” A closer glance could have changed her mind. Under different circumstances, this one could be considered a keeper, she thought, if she was in any way interested. Maybe for Barb, but certainly not her.
“Well, yeah.” He grinned. “I guess I am. Looks like there’s plenty of room for both of us, though.”
Layne kept her forced, cool smile. “There’s going to be even more room, since I’m leaving. You can have the entire bench. The whole thing.” She got up and started to walk away.
“Hey,” Rivers called after her as he stood up. “I didn’t mean to make you leave, again! I just want to talk to you.”
“Oh, have I walked away before? I hadn’t noticed,” Layne replied dryly, turning to look at him before taking another step or two away. God, she thought, do they all subscribe to the same ‘How to meet the girl of your dreams’ newsletter?
Rivers was pissed! Women just did not do this to him! “This is the second time I’ve made you walk away. I’m sure it looks like I’m hitting on you, but I’m not. I’m not trying to get you into my bed, or get into your pants, or marry you. I’d merely like to get to know you. Is that so bad?”
Layne walked back to stand directly in front of him. “Thank you for explaining that so succulently, it makes me feel ever so much better. Look,” she continued quietly, after pausing for a moment to dissipate a bit of her anger, “you’re probably a really nice guy, but I’m just not interested. You’re a really good-looking guy too, but you certainly already know that. I’m sure you feel like God’s gift to the women. But please, I’m here to work out, not to meet guys, and certainly not to get into your bed or marry you or allow you to get into my pants. Which incidentally, in case you were wondering, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell of you ever getting into my pants. Just wanted to clear up that point.” She stopped for another breath before continuing, her flashing eyes locked with his.
Oh shit! Do not look there! She glanced at his lips instead. Crap, not there either! On down to his chin. “I’m trying to be nice, really I am, but I’m not interested in meeting you or anybody else.”
Get into your pants? Damn! Not the cleverest thing to say, Erik thought. “Look,” he replied, “I, um, I apologize for my poor choice of words. I’m sure that was offensive as hell, and I’m truly sorry.” He shrugged as he turned to walk away, fully aware now, his choice of words guaranteed that today was not going to be the day! “Maybe some other time. I was only trying to be friendly.”
Well, strike two, he thought as he retreated. It’d been a long time since that’d happened, many years actually, but giving up on her now was not possible. The challenge was just too great, although quite possibly he could understand her feelings. He’d been approached by more than a few women in the gym and elsewhere, and that was something he did not like. “Okay,” he muttered as he left the room for the showers, “third time’s gotta be the charm.”
~ ~ ~
The Wellington Law Firm had been retained to represent a local group attempting to block the sale of a neighborhood park to an out-of-state developer. Through the years, the park had fallen into a sad state of despair due to disinterest and neglect. With young families moving into the surrounding residential areas, the city council promised to reverse its ruling of allowing the sale if funds could be raised within two months to fix whatever problems existed. And there were many to fix.
The donation drive was scheduled to start in the afternoon. A musical group was scheduled to play in the bandstand, food and ice cream stands were set up, tables and chairs set in place, and there were games and fun things for all ages. A separate table was set up for Layne to receive whatever donations may be offered. As the newest, and therefore the lowest, member on the Wellington Law Firm totem pole, she was selected to be in charge of accepting and keeping track of the donations. And on a Saturday, yet.
The afternoon turned blazing hot in the Texas sun, and Layne was thankful to be sitting in the shade of the table’s canopy. The park was full of those who ignored the blitz campaign by the developers wanting the property, but for the most part, they were young people without much in way of discretionary funds, so the donations were coming few and far between.
Layne was counting what few donations she’d taken in, feeling that perhaps she should try hawking the project like a circus barker, when she happened to glance up and see an old pickup truck wheeze into the parking area. It was a rusty, dented, tired old relic of its former self when it was new, many years ago.
The pickup stopped and Erik Rivers reached down to shut off the ignition. He peered through the dust-covered windshield at the park grounds. Damn! Everyone appeared to be nicely dressed, even the children running around at full throttle. He should have cleaned up, at least beaten off some of the dust and scraped off a bit of the mud from his knees where he landed after being thrown from the damn horse. He should’ve had a wrangler break the critter, not himself! That was what he paid them for! He opened the door and started to slide his stiff, sore body out. He had to make his donation and hurry back to the ranch. There was worked to be done,
and today he was one cowboy short.
Layne watched with interest as the door opened and long legs in dusty, mud-encrusted, well-worn jeans dropped to the ground. The rest of a cowboy snaked out and started a slow, limping walk into the park. Her interest grew when it became apparent that the cowboy was weaving through the milling crowd directly for her table. As he got closer, she tried to make out the face partially hidden under the sweat-stained ten-gallon hat but could not.
As Rivers approached closer still, he recognized the woman at the desk. The girl from the gym! What a stroke of luck, he thought. No chance of escape. She’s got to talk to me now!
Finally, as he got closer to Layne’s table, River’s face became clear. It was the idiot from the wellness center! As good-looking as the guy was, anger still flashed through her. How dare he! How dare he continue his advances here, in the park! Oh. My. God! What if he’s a stalker?
“Hi,” he said with a broad grin, hurrying the final couple of steps to Layne’s table and leaning hands-down on the front of it. “Well, how’s this for a coincidence? We meet again! I suppose you’ve got to talk to me now?” He shot a quick glance down at her breasts, which were pushing tightly against her blouse. Oh boy, better not to go there . . .
“If you’re here to make a donation, I certainly will. That’s one of this job’s drawbacks. Are you here to make a donation?” Layne asked, swallowing another flash of anger.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” he replied, removing his stained hat to run a sleeve across his tanned forehead to blot the perspiration.
Whoa! A close-up! A gal could get interested, she supposed, if she had the time or wanted to. She quickly straightened that thought out!
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