“Layne Martin. As you know, I just happened to be on a couple of rides with her tonight. But,” he added, “yeah, she’s a beauty. Damn smart too.”
“Erik, I’ve been with you five, almost six years. You know my wife, my kid, and by God, you better know me pretty well by now too. Give me some answers. Who do you think I’m gonna blab to?”
Erik turned to him as his truck and horse trailer pulled up beside the barn. “Phil,” he said, “I’m not hiding anything from you. No reason to. Not only are you my foreman, you’re my best friend too. It’s just that I’m not sure I can get the gal I want.”
“And which gal would that be, if I’m not being too nosey?”
“Not nosey at all. The Martin gal. Layne.”
“Thought so, hope so. You sure wouldn’t have any trouble with that blonde lady, though. Hell, she’d marry you tomorrow. And,” he continued, “the way she looks at you when she’s here, I’d strongly tread carefully.”
“Yeah, I suppose. I know I’m on her radar, but she’s really not on mine. Gotta just wait and see on the other one.”
By Erik’s short responses, Phil knew he’d pressed to the limit, and decided to leave well-enough alone. “Tonight’s stew night, and you know you’re always welcome. I’ll have Emily set another place.”
~ ~ ~
Erik called, as Layne had given him permission to do, and made arrangements to meet in a restaurant in San Antonio. She’d arrived early and parked close by the exit to the main street, in case a quick getaway was needed. Actually, Layne realized, that certainly was an unnecessary precaution. She had no fear of him and looked forward to the explanation of his part in the entire torn-up check matter.
The maitre d’ seated Layne at the table Erik had called to reserve, and she immediately ordered a brandy Manhattan, and swallowed it in three quick shuttering gulps. Her nerves needed calming, and that was the quickest way she knew of doing it. The waiter was at her side instantly. “Another Manhattan?” he questioned with a pleasant smile.
“No, I think not.” She smiled back. “One of those is quite enough. Just a cheap white wine, please.”
“Um, any particular label, miss?”
“Your choice. Surprise me. Cheap and white, remember?”
The goblet had just been placed on the table when Layne spotted Erik walking through the restaurant toward her.
“Hi,” he smiled, pulling out a chair. “You look intelligent.”
Layne shot him a questioning look. “Pardon me?”
“I would have said you look beautiful, but I know you don’t like that.”
“Oh.” She shot him a slight grin. “So you do recognize my finer qualities.”
“Yes, I certainly do,” he replied, noticing her wine goblet. “Is the wine cheap enough? White enough?”
Layne quickly appraised his expression, expecting to find sarcasm, but there was only a twinkle in his eyes. “Best they could find.” She grinned, lifting the goblet and savoring a sip.
Erik signaled the waiter and ordered a drink for himself and when it came, he held it up in a toast. “To starting anew, over again,” he said, reaching the glass toward her, searching her eyes.
Layne hesitated for a moment. Did she want to start anew? Then she touched the rim of his glass with her goblet. “To a fresh start,” she agreed, meeting his eyes.
The rims touched, and she smiled her very first genuine smile at him.
~ ~ ~
As the evening progressed, Erik explained in detail his role in what they now jokingly referred to The Conditions Fiasco. He readily admitted that he’d hit on her in the Wellness Center, but maintained that it was the only way that he knew of to meet her. How else? He merely wanted to get to know her. And, he certainly regretted his comment about wanting to get into her pants and told her so. He regretted saying it, but the thought still lingered . . .
Layne accepted his apologies, and for her part, admitted that yes, she was quite harsh on him and apologized for her rebuffs. All appeared to be going well until the picture of Joyce Callaway drifted through her mind, hitting her like a punch to the midsection. This situation had to be settled before she could, or would, commit to taking this to the next level, if indeed there was something actually to take it to. At least she didn’t hate him anymore. In fact, truth be known, she was liking him, and really presently enjoying his company.
In the course of their after-dinner cocktail, Erik knew he had to find out where he stood in this situation. “Mind if I call you again sometime?” he asked, fearful the question could be pushing his limits.
Layne hesitated. Joyce Callaway loomed as a huge roadblock. “If you’re seeing someone else, Mr. Rivers, I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Now that we’re friends, I wish you’d call me Erik.”
“Okay, Erik,” she finally said. “But is there someone else? I wouldn’t want to ruin anything for you.”
“I’ve occasionally been seeing another woman, yes,” he replied, “but frankly, it’s nothing serious. I can’t picture her living a rancher’s life, so I have no plan as to where it’s going.”
“Well, in that case, why don’t I wait until you know for sure? We just now became friends.”
“I thank you for that,” Erik replied sincerely. “I think that’s only fair.” He reached across the table and took Layne’s hand. “Here’s to our friendship,” he said, shaking her hand.
“To our friendship,” she agreed, looking at him with genuine affection.
~ ~ ~
It had been a couple of weeks since Joyce Callaway appeared in Layne’s office and unleashed the bombshell: her plan to marry Erik Rivers. Layne assumed that no news was good news, since no wedding announcement had appeared in the papers, and also none of her contacts in the Wellington office had heard of any pending litigation that concerned Erik’s quest for custody of the child.
Layne’s thoughts turned more and more to Callaway’s request that she represent the child’s grandmother, should Erik bring his desire for custody to a court of law. How could any woman push a child away from a happy, secure life? Erik Rivers could certainly provide that. But on the other hand, what about the grandmother’s love? Was she not providing the child a happy, secure home? And what would be accomplished by tearing the little girl away?
So many things to consider, Layne realized, pushing away from her desk and running her fingers through her long chestnut hair.
A vague thought drifted into her mind. What if — just what if? - she and Erik ever got together, man and wife, and she, by representing the grandmother and winning full legal custody for her, deprived Erik — them — of having, or at the very least, sharing the child?
Layne quickly attempted to brush the intrusion away. Don’t go there! But it was too late, as another thought wormed its way in. What was her legal responsibility? There was no signed contract with Callaway, so that was good, but she’d consented verbally to her wishes. She knew if there were no witnesses to the verbal agreement, and none of the provisions were recorded, parties would find themselves in an ‘He said, She said’ situation. The problem was the notes she’d taken during the discussions with Callaway. Those in themselves would make the verbal agreement binding.
The thought of destroying Erik and his niece was unconscionable, something she could not do, something she would not do, and that put her in a bit of a bind. Certainly, defending the grandmother against Erik in court would dash any chance of a relationship with him. But presently, Layne realized, the best thing would be to take a ‘wait and see’ attitude. There was no sense worrying about what might happen.
Layne stretched her arms high above her head. She’d been seated at her desk all morning and needed a break, especially when her tired back was reminding her to improve her posture . . .
She went to the w
indow and gazed out. It was a beautiful blue-sky day, accentuated by a scattering of wispy white clouds drifting across. What to do, what to do? It was too nice to stay inside. She walked over to sneak a peek into Barb’s room and found her busy. A glance at the wall clock told her their lunch break was a good two hours away.
As she returned to the window to continue gazing out, her thoughts again turned to Joyce Callaway and her designs on Erik. Now, as a friend, should she warn him? Wasn’t that what friends are for? Wasn’t that what friends should do? Or, would that be unwelcome, sticking her nose in somewhere it didn’t belong and had no business being? She decided to let that idea rest for a while too, but in the meantime, she thought, now would be a good time to do a little investigating, just in case. She wasn’t sure just in case of what, but just in case, nevertheless . . .
She poked her head into Barb’s office again. “I’m going out for a while, Barb. We gonna do lunch, same time, same place?”
Barb gave her a thumbs-up without turning around, deep into studying a large book laid open on her desk.
Layne left the building and dug for the keys as she approached her car. Once inside, she lowered the front windows, letting some of the sun’s heat to vent out before punching the air-conditioning button and backing out of her assigned parking slot. She had her mind made up. She’d go straight to the library and find what she wanted. At the very least, there had to be an article of the accident that took the lives of River’s sister and her husband. Once she discovered the husband’s name, she could track down the whereabouts of the grandmother. Granted, it would be much easier and faster to merely ask Erik, but quite possibly he may not know, and at any rate, questions would follow and she’d have no answers to them.
The record room of the library was virtually deserted as Layne searched through the archives. She had no idea when the accident had occurred — what month, what year — so her investigation took most of the morning.
But finally, mere moments before giving up, there it was. An article about the horrific crash that took two lives and injured a small child. She scanned the digitized article until she came to the names. Rhonda and William Gerhardt, and their daughter, Lucy.
Layne felt a surge of relief. That was what she needed to start her investigation. Well, not all, she realized, but a start nonetheless, should Rivers file for custody.
So, Callaway thought somewhere in Louisiana. Not much help, other than possibly separating it from the other forty-nine states. But Gerhardt was not a common name, so Layne realized it might prove valuable in her search. But then again, Layne thought, why start something when there was not any reason to? Better to wait. Maybe Erik would leave well enough alone if Joyce subtly discouraged taking the child. With that thought in mind and the search information in hand, Layne left the library to meet Barb for lunch.
~ ~ ~
Layne finished the last of her chicken salad sandwich and wiped her lips with the napkin before glancing at her watch. No longer under the critical, watchful eye of Keith Wellington, she and Barb could take their time instead of their previous sprint through lunch.
“It took a while,” Layne said, “but I finally found it. Kind of like the needle in the haystack.”
“And the name is Gerhardt? That’s German, isn’t it?” Barb questioned, finishing the last scraps of her salad. “Maybe she’s a member of a Lutheran church somewhere, or some German organization. You could check into things like that, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Layne agreed, “but where? Callaway thought Louisiana, but didn’t know for sure. She said she’d call if or when she found out for sure. So far, no call.”
“And Rivers doesn’t know either?”
“Apparently not,” Layne said after a final sip of her soda and putting the glass down, “because if he knew, Callaway would know too. But I don’t know why I’m worried. Maybe I’ll never need to find her. Maybe this is all for nothing.”
“Why don’t you hire a private detective or something? That would be quick and easy.”
“First of all,” Layne replied, “why go to all that trouble if we don’t have to? What if Rivers is talked out of the child by old what’s-her-name?”
“Callaway. Joyce Callaway,” Barb replied dryly.
Layne picked up the empty iced tea glass and studied its rim. “The entire problem”—she sighed—“is that I verbally agreed to take her money and represent the grandmother if Rivers ever challenged her custody. I agreed before I realized who the hell she was talking about. And now I’m bound by this.”
“But only if it goes to court, right? That could really screw things up with him.”
“We’re friends, Barb, just friends. But,” Layne continued, “yeah, it would royally screw things up, and our short-lived friendship would come to a screeching halt.”
Barb searched Layne’s eyes. “Don’t mess with me, Layne-O girl! I’m an attorney, and I can tell when a person is lying, and right now, you are lying with a capital L! You’re falling in love with Erik Rivers.”
Layne met Barb’s steady stare. “Okay,” she admitted, “my feelings have changed completely concerning him, and yes, he’s in my thoughts quite often now, but until I know what’s going on with the Wicked Witch of the West, I’ve got to keep out of it.”
“So you do have feelings for him?” Barb pressed.
“I just stopped disliking him a few days ago, for Pete’s sake.”
“How can you keep out of it when you have feelings for him? You’re the most competitive girl I know. Go after him. To hell with old what’s-her-name!”
“Callaway. Joyce Callaway.”
Barb rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know.” She pushed her salad bowl away, then spotted a lone sprig of lettuce remaining. She scooped it out with a finger and studied it. “What are you afraid of? He’ll either say yes or no to whatever you suggest. Fight for him,” she added, finally licking the tiny piece of lettuce off her finger. “He wouldn’t have chased after you so damn hard if he wasn’t interested, would he?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Layne said, picking up the tab, signaling an end to this particular conversation.
~ ~ ~
Layne glanced up at her office clock. Why did the last half-hour seem to absolutely crawl by? She finished writing a few notes on her legal pad, then filed it away in the bottom drawer of the desk. She was pushing her chair away when the sharp ring of the phone startled her. Damn! Gotta get a receptionist . . .
“Martin Law Office,” she answered.
“Layne? Erik Rivers. Have you got a minute?” His voice sent a warm gush surging through her, a response that took her by surprise. “Oh hi! Yes, I’m free,” she replied, wishing she could take back her lightning-quick reply.
“I realize this is terribly short notice, and I’m calling without your permission, but . . .”
“You don’t need my permission to call,” Layne interrupted softly. “Now.”
“Oh. Great! Well, the reason I called is, I’m in town for business, and I’d like to buy you dinner. Is that of any interest to you?”
“Sure, I’d enjoy that.” Layne’s mind flashed through her closet. What to wear, what to wear? “Fancy or casual?” she asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“Totally casual,” he laughed. “We won’t go through that pretty dress thing again, I promise.”
Layne recalled their first conversation before their first meeting. “No, we won’t,” she said with a giggle, “but in my mind, casual means either a simple skirt or jeans. Do you have a preference?”
“I have my choice?”
“Sure, if you want.”
Erik paused for a moment. He’d studied her — at a distance, to be sure — in her workout attire at the gym. With a figure like hers, why the hell hide it under a skirt? Or under anything? “It’s nothing high clas
s, so jeans will be fine. I’m wearing jeans too.”
They agreed on the time and place, and ignoring the clock that showed twenty-five minutes remaining before she meant to leave, Layne left.
~ ~ ~
Layne surveyed her reflection in the mirror, twisting around to get a sideways view, then one over the shoulder. The jeans took a bit of a struggle getting into, but yes, very well worth it. Her butt looked great. Really great! The swell of her breasts straining against her long-sleeved western shirt looked great too! She’d showered, shampooed her long chestnut hair and brushed it to a glistening sheen before pulling it into a ponytail, and applied just enough makeup to highlight her natural beauty. She was ready.
Layne recognized the new pickup as Erik’s, and parked beside it before going into the non-pretentious and quiet restaurant. Erik was waiting and as she approached, he stood to pull out a chair.
“Hi,” he said softly, giving her a brief hug before backing away and surveying her top to bottom. “You look very nice.” He’d learned not to comment on her beauty, other than to say that she looked nice or something along those lines. He found this troublesome. How could he not speak his mind, and tell her he thought she was drop-dead friggin’ gorgeous?
“Thank you,” She replied in return. “You look very nice yourself.” Oh God, do you ever.
Once seated, Layne picked up her menu and searched through it. “What looks good to you?” she asked.
“Well, as you know from days gone by, if you remember correctly, and I’m sure you do, I’m a steak and potatoes man, so for me, it’s gotta be prime rib or a big juicy steak. What looks good to you?” He sat quietly, waiting for her fish, lobster, or pasta request. He’d certainly accept whatever she ordered. If nothing else, he wasn’t that slow a learner.
Layne thought for another moment, studying the menu. “I guess,” she finally said, putting the menu down, “if I’m going to live in cattle country, I’d better start getting used to eating beef. I’ll have what you’re having.”
The Rancher's Conditions Page 9
