by Anna Jeffrey
“Well, that’s not a bad thing. And you’re sure he’ll sell.”
Terry grinned. “If the deal’s right, anyone will sell.”
“Okay.” The engineer puffed his cheeks and blew out a long breath, continuing to study the plat. “Big job.”
“When you come out, I’ll rent a plane and a pilot and we’ll fly the whole area. I want your input. I’ve got some old aerial maps, but I’d like to get an eyeball on the landscape.”
Chick laughed. “Uh-oh. I don’t have to jump out, do I?”
Terry laughed, too. “I might, but you don’t have to.”
“Mind a little input right now?”
“Not from you.”
“You’re going out on a real skimpy limb on this one, Terry. Especially if you’re going in debt to buy that ranch. You could lose your ass. West Texas is known for three things these days. Wide open spaces, a lot less oil than there used to be and unemployment. Not retirement.”
Terry laughed. “It’s only money, Chick. Hell, I didn’t have any when I started. If the sub-division doesn’t work out, I can always be a cowboy.”
“But it doesn’t make sense, Terry. We’ve already got houses to build in Rancho Casero. Soon they’ll be selling faster than I can stand ‘em up. The whole sub-division will be sold out in a year or two, max. You’ll make so damn much money you could retire.”
“I’m too young to retire.”
“Maybe so, but this thing in West Texas is more of a long shot than a crippled racehorse. My God, man, if you could get your hands on the mineral rights, you’d be better off drilling for oil.”
“My business is real estate. Wildcatting’s too big a gamble.”
Chick laughed. “It’s all gambling, pal. Whether it’s oil wells or houses and lots.”
Terry laughed, too. “Maybe that’s what makes it fun.”
Chapter 8
Barely awake, Terry basked in his queen-size bed, floating through nebulous memories of his youth--spelunking in Balmorhea’s water caves, climbing the steep rock walls of El Capitan, kayaking the Pecos River at flood stage. God, he loved West Texas. He loved the shifting sand and the ever-present wind touching his face. Even the sulphur gas smell that frequently pervaded the air was more pleasant than the North Central Texas swamp odor to which he had never grown accustomed.
He had returned to Agua Dulce late last night, picked up the key to this mobile home from his RV park manager and opened every window before falling into bed, worn out after the five-hundred mile drive from Fort Worth.
The little mobile home wasn’t bad. Probably eleven-hundred square feet. Solid-feeling floor. Big enough kitchen. Two bedrooms, the master with a queen-size bed. Like a calculator, figures rippled through his head. The mobile home had probably cost a quarter what he would spend putting up a stick-built house of the same square footage.
Insistent knocking on the front door brought him full awake. He could think of no one who should be banging on his door, especially so early in the morning. He pushed himself out of bed, pulled on jeans and padded to the door. Through the peep-hole, he saw...a woman standing on his deck.
Oh, yeah. The good-looking chick from the café. And she was dressed up like Dale Evans—fancy shirt, fringe and all. His memory flashed on the first time he had seen her when she had been wearing loose slacks and a T-shirt.
He combed his fingers through his hair, ran his tongue over his teeth and opened the door. She looked at him with an odd expression.
“Hi,” he said cautiously, rubbing a hand down his bare chest and subtly checking his fly. Sure enough, his top button was undone, but too late to worry about it now.
“I, uh, uh, want to speak to you,” she said.
Her eyes settled on his hand at his fly, setting off a little stir in his jeans. “Um, you got me out of bed. Can it wait a while?”
She looked up and stared him in the eye. Her fists went to her hips, her breasts shifting beneath her snug cowgirl shirt. Among other things, he could see a big no-it-can’t-wait in the gesture. “I don’t have a lot of time,” she said.
Uh-oh. This woman on his deck was a different personality from the weepy one with whom he had danced a few evenings ago in the café.
All he had on was a pair of jeans and he didn’t usually invite women he didn’t know into his quarters when he was half naked and only half awake, but there didn’t seem to be a better choice. Having met her before and having let her cry in his arms, he felt as if he did know her. “Okay. You want to talk standing on the porch or you want to come inside?”
She looked away, then looked back, jaw tight, red lips pursed. “I’ll come in.”
He stepped back from the doorway and gave her entrance. “Want to sit down?” He gestured toward both the dining table and the sofa a few feet away in the living room area.
She looked around. “Wow. This place looks like new.”
It did. The manager had apparently followed orders. New vinyl on the kitchen and bathroom floors and new carpeting in the living room and the two bedrooms. The odor of “new” and some kind of cleaning product filled the whole mobile home.
She crossed in front of him, adding yet another scent to the mix, something musky and appealing. He felt that little stir in his jeans again. She took a seat at the dining table and crossed her forearms on the tabletop. Whatever she had to say, she meant business.
“You know,” he said, seeking to lessen both the tension that seemed to be coming off her in waves and the uneasiness he felt himself, “I talk better after I’ve had a cup of coffee.”
He had already spotted a new coffee maker on the kitchen counter. He went to the cupboard and began opening doors, searching for a can of coffee and hoping the park manager had also followed his instructions to get some food into the place. “Now it probably won’t be as good as your coffee, but—”
“You came into my café. Why didn’t you identify yourself? Why didn’t you say you had bought our town?”
His ears pricked. Our town?
His assistant Kim had done a cursory profile on all of the citizens of Agua Dulce. This one had to be Raylene Rutherford who had run the flea market and café for over thirty years. Kim must have made an error. The woman sitting at his table would have been a little kid thirty years ago.
He found a new can of Maxwell House and a small jar of phony cream on a cupboard shelf, then filled the coffee pot with tap water. Lifting it to eye-level, he looked into it and found it clear. “I hear there’s good water here. Guess you’d know about that, huh?”
A safe topic. Why he was concerned about calming her and why her attitude was making him nervous he didn’t know, because this real estate belonged to him. He had just walked into a Fort Worth lawyer’s office a week earlier and handed over a check for a million dollars.
“It’s fresh well water,” she said. “Untreated with chemicals. And it doesn’t have a lot of mineral.”
Good news. And different from much of the water in West Texas. While saturated with oil, this part of Texas, the great Permian Basin, was almost without potable water. As he filled the coffee pot’s reservoir he decided to take advantage of the opportunity to learn more from someone who might know the answer to some of his questions. He braced a hand on the counter while he waited for the coffee to brew. “I understand everyone in town uses the well water, right?”
Her brow knit into a frown. “Of course. Where else would we get water?”
“What about the motel and the service station across the highway? Do they pay for the water?” He thought he already knew the answer because Kim, in her research, had found that they did use the water, but she had been unable to find that they paid for it.
“I don’t know. Clyde Campbell owned the well. He didn’t discuss his business with me. What difference does it make?”
“Their property isn’t part of the town. They really don’t have any right to the water unless the well’s owner gives it to them, either for free or for a fee.”
�
�Clyde had the first nickel he ever made. Knowing him, if there was a buck to be made by selling water, he probably made it. But I don’t recall hearing of anyone paying him for water.”
“You’re saying Campbell was stingy?” Terry couldn’t keep from giving her a hard look. “Ma’am, if those two property owners have been using the well water gratis all these years, I’d say that was pretty generous of Mr. Campbell. Maybe the guy wasn’t as stingy as you think.”
She huffed and looked away, obviously annoyed. “I’d be amazed to hear he was generous when it came to money. The water system was set up a long time ago, even before he owned the town. It was probably cheaper for him to just leave it alone than to try and change it.”
“In any event, the system’s in violation of state regulations. With so many families using it, it’s subject to being monitored by the state.”
“We don’t need the state. We’ve never had a problem with the water.”
In the heat of her bristling attitude, this conversation was turning into something Terry felt a need to take control of. Being half dressed weakened that possibility and his bladder was full. He preferred conducting power conversations standing, fully clothed and without the urgent need to pee. “Listen, do you mind if I step back into the bedroom and put on a shirt?”
“Please do.”
He made for the bathroom. Soon he returned to the kitchen, his upper body covered by a T-shirt, and saw the coffee finished. He pulled two ceramic mugs from the cupboard. “I’m sure the well isn’t what you came to talk about so early in the morning.”
“It isn’t early. It’s nine o’clock. I came to speak to you about Gordon.”
Belligerent, for sure. “Who?”
“Gordon Tubbs. The manager of this trailer park. Your employee. Or haven’t you noticed him?”
Yep, definite hostility. A side of her he hadn’t seen the first time they met. He looked at her with a wary squint. “And?”
“He’s afraid he’s going to be laid off from his job.”
Terry hesitated, wondering what can of worms was about to be opened regarding his only known Agua Dulce employee. “That’s possible. If I don’t have an operating RV park, I won’t be needing an RV park manager.” He offered the jar of cream to her. “Uh, cream? Sugar?”
The heat in her eye said she wasn’t interested in hospitality. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought about, or care, how losing his job will affect him.”
“And how is this your business, Miss--what’s your name again?”
“Gordon’s been a friend of mine for years. And I have other friends living in the trailer park.”
“That would be who?”
“Jake Shepherd and his wife Tanya. And Ben Seagrave. They lease mobile homes here.”
“Ah. The cowboy and the drunk.” He carried the two mugs of coffee to the dining table.
She ignored the coffee. “You shouldn’t belittle them. Ben’s lived here since I was a little kid. And Jake and his wife and Gordon are all good people. Gordon can’t help it if he’s sick.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Heart trouble. Serious heart trouble. But he’s always done a good job. He’s honest and conscientious.”
Terry sat down opposite her at the dining table. “Are you here as Mr. Tubbs’ representative?” Or your own? he wondered.
For the first time, her demeanor softened. She looked down at the mug of coffee, hooked her finger in the handle and pulled it toward her. “No, I’m just Gordon’s friend.” She said it almost affectionately and he realized the simple admission had deep meaning for her.
His own attitude softened, a reaction that rarely happened when someone approached him aggressively. He had to admire her loyalty to this Gordon fellow. And her chutzpah. Terry drank from his mug, watching her over the rim. And with her expressive almond-shaped eyes and fine features, she was worth watching. Taking in her black hair and tan skin, he wondered if she was Mexican, but she had no trace of an accent. “Something tells me you want me to do something. What is it?”
“The trailer park makes money. It always has.”
“And you know this how?”
“The former owner, Clyde Campbell, was friends with my mother before he died. Good friends.”
Terry almost grinned. Just a few minutes earlier she had declared she knew nothing about Campbell’s business. So this was not Raylene Rutherford; it was her daughter.
Human beings fascinated Terry and this one was starting to interest him more than he wanted her to. Golden brown eyes, heart-shaped red lips and a small mole at the corner of her mouth. Her facial features were almost perfect. What could a woman this good-looking be doing in this remote place and how had Kim missed her in her research?
“Gordon’s been living on borrowed time for a couple of years,” she said. “He was on Clyde’s group insurance. Since the trailer park’s profitable, maybe it wouldn’t interfere with your plans to let him stay on. He needs a job and he’s desperate for health insurance. Besides that, having the RV park open is good for all of our businesses. We depend on tourists.” She looked him sharply in the eye. “Of course, if you plan to close us all down, that’s another story.”
Terry sat back in his chair, emotions conflicting. Something about her had driven straight to his masculinity and that part wanted to get to know her better, but his pragmatic side warned him she would be a handful. She definitely had ideas of her own about the town he had just bought and they probably clashed with his. His business sense nudged him, pointing out the folly of discussing his plans with her or any other stranger.
But for the most part, she was right. The RV park wasn’t in his way. The thing did make a small profit. Terry was reluctant to start his venture with pissing off everyone in the town. The public relations persona that had served him well in his real estate career stepped up. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll leave the RV park as is for the moment. I’ve got other things to take care of right now anyway. Since Mister Tubbs is already on the payroll I’ve got no problem adding him to my company’s group insurance plan. Would that make you happy?”
But I can’t promise how long I can do that, he refrained from saying.
For the first time since she knocked on his door, she smiled. And what a smile. Dancing eyes and straight white teeth. The little mole moved with her mouth.
“Gordon will be so relieved,” she said. “I’m relieved, too. I was worried about him.” As she picked up the mug and sipped, Terry felt a mysterious weight lift from his chest.
“Well, I’ve got to get going.” She stood up. “I haven’t opened the café yet and I might be losing business.”
Terry felt a need to delay her leaving, just for a few more seconds. He stood, too. “Look, I’ll be having some people come and go, doing some work. They’ll need a place to eat and I’ll be paying their expenses. For that matter, I’m going to be around here quite a bit myself. Can I start a tab in your café? I can write you a check when I leave or if you’d rather, I can give you a credit card number.”
“Sure. Either one’s okay. I do serve three meals a day if I’ve got customers. And the food’s always fresh.”
With the stridency of anger removed, her voice had a soft alto tone that made him think of phone sex. Her eyes had turned warm and friendly and for some damn reason, he was having difficulty relinquishing the moment. “Great,” he said.
She smiled up at him.“You say that a lot, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Great. That’s one of the things I remember about that first day you came into the café. You thought everything was great.
He shrugged and grinned. “What can I say? I’m an optimist.”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you are? I was shocked and a little upset when you opened the door this morning and I realized you’re the town’s new owner.”
He lifted a shoulder. “You were so unhappy that day. I didn’t want to make things, whatever they were, worse. I don’t like seeing a pr
etty girl cry.”
“Well...” She looked down, almost shy. “I don’t cry very often.” She started for the door.
“Listen,” he said, and she stopped. “What happened to...you know, the guy?”
A little frown of puzzlement formed between her brows. “Guy?...Oh, that guy. His name’s Woody.” She toyed with a ring on her finger. “By now he’s probably a bridegroom. Probably the best thing that ever happened to me.” She smiled again. “Well, I gotta go.”
Terry stood in the doorway and watched her cross his deck, jog down his steps and walk out into the sunny morning. She made her way through the sparse bunch grass and brush, toward a singlewide mobile home parked behind the flea market. A confusing mix of emotions stirred within him. Instead of wading into the confusion, he focused on the fact that there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with how she looked in a pair of tight jeans. He did like a woman with a fine ass. Woody, whoever he was, must be a damn fool.
A pesky question niggled at him. She had picked up the standard for Gordon Tubbs, so why hadn’t she asked him about his plans for the flea market and café? If any building in town was in his way, it was the one she and the adjacent beauty shop occupied.
****
Not once had Marisa suspected Agua Dulce’s buyer would be young and good-looking. Or that vitality would leap from his pores. Weren’t rich guys supposed to be old and fat like Tanya said? She kept her steps even and her chin level as she hiked toward her mother’s singlewide. She had barely sat through the meeting with Mr. Ledger without crawling under the furniture in humiliation. How could he have let her open herself up so completely that day in the café and not reveal his identity?
She felt his eyes on her back all the way to the singlewide’s door and was glad to reach home. Her heart hammered as she closed her door and leaned against it. A sense of doom hung on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. He may have said he would leave the RV park alone, but she had enough common sense to know it was only a temporary commitment. In time, he would leave nothing alone, including Pecos Belle’s Emporium & Eats. Unless she could pull a rabbit out of a hat and find a job and a home in another town, she and her mother were as good as homeless. She shut her eyes and pressed her forehead against the door for a moment.
