by Linda Howard
“That’s okay,” Harlan said quickly, then turned red. “I need to tell you something.”
Angie stared at him in puzzlement. He seemed both embarrassed and disturbed, which was weird. “You can’t handle the listing?” She couldn’t think of anything else that would account for his expression.
“Of course, that isn’t it. No problem there. It’s just, well, I don’t need to take pictures because there’s already been an offer.”
“Already?” Angie sat back, her eyes wide. She didn’t know if she should be elated or terrified, because she hadn’t in her wildest dreams imagined the property would move so fast. This would save her a ton of money; on the other hand, she hadn’t had time to get herself emotionally or physically ready to move out, so this was kind of panic-inducing. Harlan must have immediately started spreading the word in the community, or e-mailed someone who—
Then a horrible thought occurred to her. She herself had told one person, someone who would have a vested interest in getting rid of her as soon as possible.
“Who?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, tried not to betray anything, but the look Harlan shot her told her that she’d failed … maybe because she could feel her eyes squinting into slits and her jaw clenching. No way was a neutral tone going to offset the Look of Death.
“Dare Callahan.”
Fury welled up inside her. She tried to tamp it down, tried to be reasonable. After all, she needed to sell, and the sooner the better. Callahan was actually doing her a favor, whether he knew it or not. Yeah, she wished anyone else except him would buy the place, but she had to get past that.
Harlan coughed. “I, uh, I happened to look out the window yesterday and saw you in the parking lot with him. I gather you aren’t on the best of terms.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” she muttered. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have to sell.” She sighed and rubbed her face, looked out the kitchen window to keep from looking at Harlan while she gathered herself, pulled it all back in. Okay. This made her so angry she could spit nails; she’d have to deal with it. She’d signed a contract with Harlan. If Callahan met her price, she was legally bound to honor that contract. That was what had Harlan so bothered; he knew she was caught, and he hated being the trap Callahan had used to catch her.
“He came straight up to my office after you left, then got back with me this morning after meeting with his banker, and made an offer.”
She was so focused on containing her feelings that it took her a few seconds to actually make sense of what Harlan was saying. Her head whipped around. “An offer?” That was different from taking the deal, which was what he would have said if Callahan had met her price.
“Yeah.” He turned his cup back and forth. “Would you be willing to take thirty thousand less?”
Angie erupted from her chair, unable to sit still with so much red-hot anger pouring through her. Going to the window, she clamped her hands on the edge of the sink and held on hard as she stared out, not seeing anything but using the time to get control of herself. The bastard! The low-down, miserable bastard! He knew how tough things were for her, had to have figured out she was close to bankruptcy and had to sell; he also knew how miserable the real estate market was right now, and how difficult it was to get financing. He pretty much had her over a barrel, and he was using that to get the property at a dirt cheap price. She and Harlan had priced it to give her a little maneuvering room for negotiation, but not thirty thousand dollars worth!
She didn’t have to accept the offer. Because Callahan hadn’t met her price, she was free to turn it down. But if she did, there was no guarantee she’d get another offer from someone else, and later on she might be so desperate she’d take even less money. Even worse: Did Harlan need the commission, even one based on the reduced price? Of course he did. How long had it been since he’d had a sale?
So she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Either way would cost her money. The more she delayed, the more of her money she’d lose in operating expenses—and if she took the deal right now, she’d lose it by taking the lower price.
She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and did the adult thing. “Make a counteroffer. Come down ten thousand.” That would buy her some time while she did this guide trip, but wouldn’t eat up so much time that she’d lose a lot to operations. And, who knew? He might come up ten thousand. Maybe he’d be willing to truly negotiate. Maybe he couldn’t swing her asking price, or the bank hadn’t been willing, and had low-balled her on his offer to give himself some wiggle room. Anything was possible. Not likely, because she couldn’t make herself give him the benefit of the doubt, but possible.
Harlan blew out a big sigh of relief. “Atta girl. I was afraid you’d turn him down flat.”
“If I could afford to, I would. But if I could afford to, I wouldn’t be selling in the first place.”
“I know.” Now that he could relax some, he took a big gulp of coffee. “I’ll see what he says. In the meantime, I’ll set things up with a home inspector and an appraiser, okay?”
“Sure. Let me get you a key, in case you can get things rolling while I’m gone.”
The extra key was in her bedroom. She took it from the bureau drawer and stood there a minute, clutching it in her hand while she did deep breathing exercises. She could do this. Even if Dare Callahan made the only offer, even if she couldn’t afford to turn him down, she could do this.
He had to know that if he stuck to his guns, she could make counteroffers until she was blue in the face, but eventually she’d have to take his offer. The bastard.
Angie was so furious that as soon as Harlan left, she made a beeline to the computer in the den and e-mailed her pals in Billings. “Want to guess which asshole is trying to buy my place for thirty thou less than the asking price???”
Not that they could do anything other than join in her outrage, and offer some outlandish but satisfying suggestions for revenge. That was the best thing about female friends: the instant, unquestioning support, regardless of common sense or practicality. They were all at work, of course, so she didn’t expect to hear back from them right away—
As soon as she had the thought, her e-mail pinged, and she saw she had an answer from Lisa, who had worked with her in the hospital administrative office. She’d sent the e-mail to Lisa’s home account, so this had to be a coincidence. She clicked on the e-mail to open it.
“Got a new BlackBerry! Can get e-mail all the time now. That rat bastard. Makes you think of harvesting some mountain oysters, doesn’t it?”
She typed back: “His would be poisonous.”
“Well, if you can’t even eat his nuts, what good is he?”
A few exchanges later Lisa said she had to get back to work, but by then Angie’s mood was much lighter. She’d done the adult thing and made a counteroffer. The ball was now in Callahan’s court, and until Harlan got back to her, she was wasting her time stewing about the entire situation. She still had work to do, and she’d be better off focusing on that. She couldn’t do a damn thing about Dare Callahan and what he did or didn’t do, but she could definitely make certain she did her job as a guide. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
She just wished … well, there was no point in wishing, because nothing could change the past. Yet she was always aware of a deep sadness whenever she thought of Dare Callahan, a sadness she kept carefully buried under a thick layer of anger, because there was no point in letting herself feel anything other than anger. Reality was what it was.
But still, for a giddy while, back when they’d first met, her stomach felt as if it had taken flight, her heart rate had soared, and despite all common sense she’d let herself get lost in anticipation. She could remember the exact moment when they’d been introduced—in the feed store, standing beside fifty-pound sacks of grain. She’d looked up into the strong face shadowed by the brim of his black hat, met those vivid blue eyes, and it felt as if the world had fallen away. She remembered t
he feel of his hard, warm hand wrapping around hers, the calluses on his palm, the steely strength held firmly in check so he didn’t crush her fingers. “Miss Powell,” he’d said briefly, his voice so hoarse she’d wondered if he had a cold or something. Then she’d noticed the scar on his throat, and knew that raspy tone was permanent.
“Call me Angie,” she’d said, and he’d given a curt nod.
Then someone else had called his name and he’d turned away, and though she’d lingered a little longer than necessary in getting her supplies, feeling as obvious and awkward as a fourteen-year-old trying to get a boy’s attention, she didn’t think he’d so much as glanced in her direction again. She had a million things to do to get ready for the guide trip she had booked for the next day, and there she was, wasting time, hoping he’d say something else to her.
Finally she’d given herself a mental shake and checked out. The feed had been loaded in the back of her pickup, and as she climbed into the cab he’d come out of the feed store. Angie hadn’t let herself pause; she’d cranked the engine and started to put the transmission in gear when he motioned for her to lower her window.
She pressed the button and the window slid down. Deliberately she kept her expression neutral, because she was a tad embarrassed at herself for dithering in the feed store the way she had. After her wedding fiasco, she’d made it a point to keep men at a distance, but a set of (very) broad shoulders and a pair of (very) blue eyes had all but blown her self-control to smithereens, whatever a smithereen was.
That blue gaze had pinned on her like a laser. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he said abruptly, no lead-in, no chitchat, just a bald and blunt invitation.
Regret almost made her sick. Why tomorrow night? She was leaving early in the morning and wouldn’t be back for a week. Why couldn’t he have given her a decent lead time, at least a week? “I can’t,” she blurted, her refusal just as blunt as his invitation.
She didn’t have time to explain. He gave a curt dip of his head, turned around, and walked to his truck before she could get another word out.
And that was that. When she’d returned from the guide trip, tired, with another million things to do before yet another group of clients came in, she’d nevertheless raced into the house to check her answering machine, to see if he’d called during her absence. There had been a couple of calls, but his hadn’t been one of them. As days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, he still hadn’t called. Disappointed, after a while she’d stopped expecting him to.
During that time, she noticed her business falling off, and because the community was so small she inevitably heard about the people who were hiring Dare Callahan as their guide, and several of the names were ones she recognized as people she’d previously guided. He was stealing her business! Okay, not stealing, because it wasn’t as if he’d accessed her files and called those people; they’d have searched him out, not the other way around. Still, the end result was the same.
He had asked her out again, months after that first time, and by that time she was so angry she’d simply given him a clipped “No, thanks” and walked away. Go out with him? She’d rather stake him out over an anthill.
Yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t completely forget that moment of first meeting him, the sensation of being in free fall as every cell in her body seemed to be supercharged. She tried, but even though she kept her attention focused forward, on getting things done, she was always aware on some level of what might have been.
Nothing. That’s what might have been: exactly nothing. And she had to remember that. Regrets were a dime a dozen.
Chapter Five
Harlan was pensive as he drove back along the narrow dirt road that snaked several miles from Angie’s place toward a blacktop. A couple of different things bothered him. He liked Dare Callahan, loved Angie the way you loved a kid you’d known most of her life, and it made him uncomfortable that he was stuck in this situation between them.
His professional loyalty was to Angie; she was the one who had signed the contract with him, she was the one paying his commission. He’d present her counteroffer to Dare, no problem; in fact, he was relieved she’d made a counteroffer at all, instead of turning Dare down flat, which was what he’d been afraid she would do. He didn’t butt in where it wasn’t his business, but what he’d seen yesterday in the parking lot below his office had made it plain the two weren’t on good terms. Watching them had been like watching two boxers in the ring, trash-talking before the swinging began.
He didn’t know what their problem was and in this part of the country people minded their own business. He’d never heard anything about a disagreement between them, but sometimes people just disliked each other and that was all there was to it. Angie kept more to herself now, after that problem at her wedding, than she had before it all happened, and Dare wasn’t a happy-go-lucky type, period. With the bristles they both toted around, it wasn’t a surprise they’d evidently managed to stick each other; more surprising was that no one had noticed it before now.
Another thing that was bothering him, which was silly because it wasn’t as if the situation was anything new, was Angie going off with two men she didn’t know. Never mind that one was a repeat customer; he sounded like a wimp, and wimps could be dangerous because they tended to go along with whoever was stronger, and not take a stand in a bad situation.
Realistically, Harlan knew this situation was nothing unusual, that Angie had been running the business for three years now and routinely guided people, mostly men, whom she didn’t know. But logic had nothing to do with a gut feeling, and his gut was suddenly uneasy. Maybe it was because this other situation had him feeling protective, but it was the same kind of gut feeling that would suddenly have him slowing down on a highway, without rhyme or reason, and five minutes later coming up on an accident, or a deer would leap across the road in front of him—things like that. His gut was uneasy now, and slowing down wouldn’t fix a damn thing.
He periodically checked his cell phone for service; sometimes he’d hit a service pocket that he hadn’t known was there, or the atmospherics would magically deliver service where five minutes before none had existed. Out here the coverage was sketchy, but in his experience people lived here for a reason, and one of them was the more relaxed pace of life. He didn’t feel the need to be in constant contact with the world, and neither did anyone else. If he moved closer to Noah—hell, when he moved closer to Noah and the family, he might as well stop playing with the idea and commit—he’d have to adjust to the barrage of information. Of course, he could always be the old coot who never turned on his cell phone unless he wanted to make a call, then promptly turned it off again. That worked for him.
He finally got service right before he got back to his office, which was normal. No point then in wasting any of his minutes, so he used the office landline. The answering machine picked up, but he’d have been surprised if Dare had actually answered, anyway; it wasn’t as if he spent his time in the house waiting for a call, and cell service was just as bad out at Dare’s place as it was everywhere else in the area, so he didn’t even bother trying that number. “Dare, it’s Harlan. I gave Angie your offer, and she’s made a counteroffer. Call me.”
The return call came less than half an hour later. Dare’s voice was as raw and rough as January, as usual, and brusque, also as usual. Dare was a good guy and Harlan liked him, but even his friends thought he was as hard as nails and as ornery as a bull. “What’s the counteroffer?”
“Ten thousand less than her asking price. It’s a fair number.”
“It was a fair number two years ago, but property values have tanked. That’s twenty thousand more than I offered. I’m not made of cash,” he said irritably. “I don’t know if I can get the bank to go any higher on how much it’ll finance.”
At least he hadn’t said a flat-out no. “Give it some thought,” Harlan urged. “Nothing has to be done right now. In fact, Angie’s taking two guys out in the
morning on a weeklong guide trip, so she’ll be out of pocket anyway. I’ll get with the bank, get an appraisal done, then we’ll both have a better idea on the value of the property. I think she’s in the ballpark, though. I’d have told her if I thought she was asking too much.” And she needed to sell, but Harlan kept that thought to himself. Her financial problems were her business, and not his to broadcast.
“All right, I’ll think about it,” Dare growled.
“That’s good. I’ll get back with you when she’s home again.” Harlan’s gut nudged him; maybe he should get Dare’s opinion on the situation. Never mind that Dare and Angie weren’t the best of friends, this was kind of a professional consultation. And if he worked this right, he might be able to wrangle something even more important out of the conversation. “Say, there’s something that’s bothering me, and I want your opinion.”
Dare paused briefly; he wasn’t someone who obligated himself without knowing the details. Harlan had no doubt that if they hadn’t known each other Dare would have said “No” and hung up the phone. But they did know each other, so he pushed the advantage. “It’s about Angie.”
A low grunt sounded. “What about her?”
“This guide trip … I feel a tad uneasy about it. She’s going off for a week with two men she doesn’t know. Well, one guy is someone she’s guided before, but she said he isn’t an outdoorsman, so I get the feeling he’s sucking up to a business associate. You ever heard of any women guides having trouble … you know, with men while they’re out on a hunt?”
“Aren’t that many women guides,” Dare said after a minute. “The few I know, other than Angie, work with their husbands. I’m not saying there aren’t more female guides working on their own, but I don’t know about them.”
“Do you think it’s safe?”
“She’ll be armed, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then she’s as safe as any other woman with a rifle in her hand. But she isn’t as safe as I’d be.” He paused. “You asked if I’d heard of any women having trouble on a hunt, and the answer is yes. I’ve heard about it, but I don’t have any firsthand knowledge, so I can’t swear what I heard was true. Common sense says it probably is, though, people being people and assholes being assholes.”
