“Good, I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t bother me at work.”
“I won’t,” he replied over his shoulder as he turned away. “Mr. Wellington gave me your cell number.”
~ ~ ~
“How on Earth do you know him?” Barb asked in amazement when Layne returned. “My God!”
“Um, he’s a client of our firm. Haven’t you ever seen him in there? He’s there quite often.”
“He said he’s gonna call you?” Barb continued her interrogation. “What’s that all about?”
Good grief, Layne thought, she must have megaphone ears! “Yes,” she lied. “I’m, ah, working on a little something of his, that’s all.”
“Does it have anything to do with getting custody of his niece?”
What? Custody of his niece? “What’s that all about?” she asked.
Barb shrugged. “All I know is that he’s investigating the possibility with Mr. Wellington. At least that’s the word around the office.”
This was all new to Layne. Usually, anything of interest quickly made its way throughout the office, but this choice little bit sure missed her. “What’s going on? Where is the niece now?”
“From what I understand, the grandmother has the girl. She took her immediately when she got out of the hospital.”
Layne lifted her ponytail to wipe the perspiration running down the nape of her neck. “Why? Was she sick? What was going on?”
“I remember seeing the story in a newspaper three, maybe four years ago, and from what I remember,” Barb said, gently testing her tired legs, “Mr. River’s sister and her husband were killed in a car crash. The child was with them at the time, and lived through it, but just barely.”
“My God, how awful! How badly was she hurt?”
“Broken bones, internal injuries, I guess, but I really don’t remember much about it. Hell, I can’t even remember what I did yesterday.”
“What’s the custody problem?” Layne questioned.
“Again,” Barb said, “I don’t really know, but the rumor was, since Mr. Rivers was single — and still is, of course — he couldn’t and still can’t, I suppose, properly care for the child, whereas the grandmother could. Anyway, that was the word around the office at the time.”
“Whose mother is the grandmother?”
“The husband’s.”
“So she’s had the child since the accident?” Layne surmised.
“I guess so,” Barb replied. “At least that’s what I understand.”
“How old was the child at the time?”
“I think three, maybe four.”
Layne nodded. “So Rivers wants to raise a six- or seven-year-old? Pretty tough to do by yourself, and run a ranch operation at the same time, wouldn’t you think?”
“Yeah, he’s gonna need a wife, and I’ll be first in line to apply.” Barb laughed.
Layne’s thoughts returned to her situation with Erik Rivers. “How did you recognize him?”
Barb cast her an incredulous look. “Doesn’t everybody know who he is?”
Layne shrugged ruefully. “I sure didn’t, and that got me in a whole barrelful of trouble.”
“Well, I guess you haven’t been here long enough to know that the Rivers End Ranch Empire has been around since the 1800s, handed down from generation to generation. When his parents died, he took over. He’s a damned important guy in Texas, believe me.”
“Oh,” Layne said, wiping the seat and handlebars of her bike with a disinfectant paper towel. She realized her world, as she’d known it, was about to change. And she could see it wasn’t going to be a change for the better.
~ ~ ~
The musical tune of her cell phone jolted Layne. She followed the music and dug the phone out from under a pile of newspapers on the end table. There was an unfamiliar caller ID and she pointed to the TV so Barb could turn the volume down before leaving the room. She answered cautiously, wondering if this would be the call from Rivers. “Hello,” she said.
“Miss Martin,” came the reply, “this is Erik Rivers. Sorry I called so late, but one of my bulls went down, and I had to be there with the vet. It’s one of my breeding bulls, and he’s a very valuable animal.”
What the hell did she know, or care, about his friggin’ prize bull? “Will it be okay?”
“Yes, he’ll be fine. Anyway,” he continued, “I want to take you to dinner tomorrow, then back to my place for a bit of wine and conversation. I want us to get to know each other.”
Back to his place for wine. Red flags were flapping all over the place. “Is anyone else living in that little shack of yours?” she asked, with no little sarcasm.
“No, just me.” He paused for a moment. “Well,” he corrected himself, “at least for now. There are times my housekeeper stays overnight, but that depends on the weather. I don’t want her driving home in a storm.”
Layne caught the ‘at least for now’. She wondered if that meant the housekeeper or plans for the niece. She assumed the housekeeper. “I want her to be in your house tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow’s forecast calls for perfect weather, Miss Martin,” Erik replied. “There will be no reason for her to stay.”
“You have to understand, Mr. Rivers. I . . .”
“Erik. Call me Erik.”
“Your friends call you Erik,” Layne shot back. “I am not your friend, and never will be. You are, and always will be, Mr. Rivers to me. I also have conditions,” she continued. “If she’s not there. I won’t be there either. That’s one of my conditions.”
“One of them? There are more? I thought I was the one in control of this.”
“This is one I’m in control of, and insist on, and yes, there may be more. We’ll have to wait and see about that. I don’t know anything about you,” she continued. “For all I know, you may be a serial killer, although I doubt it. You may be a serial rapist, although I doubt that too. But until I get to know you much, much better than I do now, being alone with you in your home is not high on my list of smart things to do - or any girl to do.”
Silence reigned for a short moment. “I don’t know you either. For all I know, you could come with a gun and rob me, or worse yet, shoot me.”
“I have a concealed carry permit,” Layne said, “so I do legally carry a gun in my purse, but unless I’m attacked, I have no plans to use it.”
“Whew,” Erik pretended a sigh, “glad to hear that.” He paused for a moment. “Tell you what,” he went on with a chuckle, “I promise not to assault you if you promise not to shoot me. Can we make a deal on that?”
“Maybe later, but not right now,” Layne answered. “And I have one more condition, for now.”
Erik sighed for real. “What is it this time?”
“I’ll drive to your place. I don’t want to be stuck out there without a way home, if things don’t go well.”
“Things will go well, Miss Martin. Believe me. There’s no need for you to drive out here. I’ll come in and pick you up.”
“Sorry, Mr. Rivers, I will drive out there. What time should I show up?”
By the tone of her answer, it was obvious this was going to be one of those very rare times he lost a battle of wills, and he wasn’t happy about it. “Six-thirty.”
“Okay, six-thirty. How should I dress?”
“A pretty dress will be fine,” came his curt reply.
“It would help if I knew where we were going,” she said. “Merely telling me to wear a pretty dress is not much help.”
Erik sighed again. “I’ll be wearing a suit, if that helps. Not a tux, just a suit. We will be eating in a very classy restaurant, if that helps. So all I can tell you is, wear a pretty dress.”
“Okay, thank you, you’ve been a great hel
p. Good bye.” She stabbed her cell phone off and threw it upon the bed. A pretty dress! Good grief! That certainly narrows it down, Layne thought, rummaging through her closet.
Soon, at least a dozen dresses were laid out upon her bed, and she was far, far from making a decision. Maybe, she smiled at the thought, this could be a great way of making him back out of this stupid deal. If she just kept bugging him . . .
Chapter 3
Layne pulled into the yard at six-thirty sharp and stopped in the designated parking slot off the driveway. Erik was outside, swinging back and forth, relaxing on a wooden yard swing. He jumped off and walked to her car.
“Saw you coming.” He smiled, opening her door. “We’ll use one of my cars.” He pushed a button on the remote in his hand and waited as one of the doors of the five-car garage lifted open. He took Layne’s hand and led her closer to see into the building. “Take your pick.” He motioned toward two sedans and a van parked beside them. The old pickup was sitting by a new shiny pickup, off to the side.
“We’ll take the pickup,” she said, pulling her hand away from his, “since it’s my choice.” She’d be damned if she’d let him impress her with his two hundred and fifty thousand-dollar Bentley. Just how many cars did he really need?
“The pickup?” Erik smiled as he started toward the shiny new truck.
Layne grabbed his arm, then immediately released it as if it was a red-hot poker. “No,” she said, “the old one.”
Erik stared at her in pure astonishment. “You want the old truck? Why on Earth do you want to go in that one?”
“I grew up with old cars. My father collects them.”
“You’re sure you don’t want the black one?” Erik asked, nodding to the regal black Bentley.
“No. You said I had my choice. I choose the pickup. If you’re going to argue, why bother giving me a choice?” She’d show him she could give as well as take.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he led Layne to the old Ford, opening and holding the door for her as she slid in. “I have to admit,” he said as he closed the door, “this is not what I expected.”
“You expected to impress me with the Bentley? Please,” she said, “I’m not that shallow.”
“How did you know it’s a Bentley?” he asked.
“I told you I grew up with cars. Pay attention.”
“I was. You said old cars.”
“I meant all cars!”
“Look, I’m not trying to impress you. I’m beginning to realize you’re beyond that. Why waste my time?”
“You mean waste my time, but I am impressed,” she admitted, patting the dash of the ancient pickup, “but not so much with you or your expensive Bentley. I understand you’re rich, I understand you’re powerful, and although those attributes are fine, they really don’t impress me like this old Ford does!”
“Well, let me say that you’ve impressed me. That’s a lovely dress, and you look beautiful.”
Oh, you are so smooth, Layne thought, and so full of crap. “Thank you. I don’t have an unlimited choice of pretty dresses, so apparently I lucked out.”
Erik smothered a smile at her comment about not being impressed. He shook his head, pushed the button that opened the garage door, started the truck, and took off down the driveway. “You’re quite a gal, aren’t you? You’re not afraid to speak your mind.”
“Why should I be?’ she shot back. “Would you rather I lied to you? Tell you only what you want to hear? Name something, I’ll lie and compliment you, although I have no idea where I’d find anything to compliment you about.”
“No,” Erik replied, again smothering a smile at her comments. He turned to her. “I have more than enough people doing that. I appreciate your honesty.”
They traveled down the highway in uneasy conversation, at least on Layne’s part. She planned to keep her part of any dialogue as minimal as possible. Soon, the lights of San Antonio came into view. They continued on, finally turning into a restaurant parking lot that was filled to overflowing.
“Good luck finding a place to park,” Layne commented dryly, eyeing the vast number of vehicles crammed into the lot.
“No problem,” Erik replied, skillfully threading through the lot and pulling up to an electric gate. He punched in a code, and the gate slid open, allowing the pickup to enter.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you’ve been here before.”
Erik turned to her. “Yes, I helped these folks get started.”
“So you’re a shareholder?”
“Yeah, a part-owner, I guess.” Erik nodded, taking Layne’s hand and starting to weave through the parking lot to the restaurant. Patrons, impatiently waiting for a cleared table, overflowed to the outside.
“Mr. Rivers,” Layne started . . . His hand firmly but gently clasped hers as he led her through the crowd, and sent the same unwelcome response coursing through her. She allowed him to keep it there. The chance of losing him in the milling multitude was too great.
“Erik,” he interrupted. “My friends call me Erik. It’s not that difficult to remember. I’ll even spell it for you. E.R.I.K.”
“Is that with a capital E?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry. You will always be Mr. Rivers to me. I’ll spell it for you. R.I.V.E.R.S., and it starts with a capital R.” She started again, “We’ll never get a seat. Look at the line. There’s got to be at least an hour’s wait!”
“Just keep holding my hand,” he replied, giving up on his name and giving her hand a gentle squeeze as they worked through the milling crowd. Layne experienced the same reaction as before, but this time it was even more unsettling. She tried to block it out, push it aside, but could not! She should not be having these feelings! But she held on to his strong, warm hand, afraid if she let go, she may never see him again and spend the night lost in the crowd. He led her to the door and held it open.
The young girl behind the reservation desk looked up and shot a worshipping smile at Erik before signaling to the dining area, and soon a well-dressed Maitrè’d was at Erik’s side.
“Mr. Rivers,” he said, shaking Erik’s extended hand, “nice seeing you again. Your table is ready and waiting, sir.”
They were led to a roped-off area where the rope was removed and Layne was seated. While another waiter stood by, Erik opened the wine list and studied it. “Any favorites?” he questioned, looking up at Layne.
“No favorites. Any cheap white wine will be fine, thank you.”
Erik glanced at the waiter standing beside him. “You don’t do cheap here, do you?” he asked.
“No, Mr. Rivers, we do not. But may I suggest a two thousand-five Chateau Petrus for the lady?”
“That’s fine,” Erik agreed, “and I’ll have a two thousand-six Jasper Hill Emily’s Paddock Shiraz.”
As the man walked away with their order, Layne leaned to Erik and asked, “What was it you ordered for me?” These were names she certainly was not familiar with.
“Chateau Petrus,” he replied. “It’s a relatively good wine, and two thousand-five was a relatively good year.”
“With a name like that, it better be good! I don’t suppose it falls into the cheap category, does it?”
“I think not.”
“Out of curiosity, what would a full bottle cost, on the totally unimaginable assumption I ever wanted to buy one?” Layne asked.
“I’m not sure,” Erik replied. “The price fluctuates a bit, but I think it falls in the several-thousand-dollar range.”
“Oh,” she finally was able to say, “is that all? I’ll be sure to order it when I’m out with Mom and Dad.” My God, she thought, how many starving children could be fed with that amount of money, and looking at the goblet just placed in front of her, she wondered how much does that little bit cost? She worked up enou
gh courage to take a small sip. It had a strange, somewhat unpleasant taste on her tongue, nothing she’d ever order again, even if she could afford it. A total waste of money.
Erik noticed the slight twist of Layne’s lips at her tentative sip. “How is it?” he asked, his eyes bright. “Pretty good?”
Layne forced herself to swallow the bitter liquid. “Not bad, yes,” she managed, trying to not let the distaste show on her face. She was not successful.
“That’s all?” Erik questioned incredulously, noting the unpleasant reaction on her face. “Not bad?”
“Look,” Layne replied, controlling the embers of anger threatening to burst into flame, “if I had to order it again, I’ll admit that I certainly would not. I told you I wanted a glass of cheap white wine. The reason I told you I wanted a glass of cheap white wine is because I wanted a glass of cheap white wine. Period. Do you understand? Do not waste your money on me.”
Erik was totally surprised by her rejection of the fine, expensive wine, but decided to leave well enough alone for the time being. “Okay,” he told the waiter, “cheap white wine it will be. Any white wine, your very cheapest, please.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. It was time to change the direction of the conversation. “Tell me about your mother and father. Where do they live?”
“They’re in a wonderful little community about forty miles west of Chicago called Glen Ellyn,” Layne replied, pushing the goblet away and hating to expose anything about her life. “It’s a beautiful place, far enough from the big city to be comfortable.”
“West of Chicago, you say?”
“Yes. Anywhere east of Chicago is under water, in Lake Michigan.”
Erik chided himself for giving her that opening. “Do you see them often?” he inquired pleasantly, fully aware of the goblet’s new location.
“Obviously not anymore, but I was with a law practice in Chicago before I moved here,” she admitted, “so I was close enough to see them whenever I wanted. Things are going to be a bit different now, I guess.”
The Rancher's Conditions Page 4
