“I hope I can do the job as well as you have.” Gil was a straight-arrow kind of guy, and Case respected the hell out of him.
Gil’s careful smile took years off his age. “I’m looking forward to spending some extra time with my family. You’ll do a great job as president, Case. Everyone is delighted to have you at the helm.”
By midmorning on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the club was virtually empty. A lot of people traveled for the holiday, and the ones still in Royal were busy baking and entertaining out-of-town company. Case decided to put in a few hours on the computer and then head home.
He’d have football to watch and movies to enjoy. Lots of men would envy him.
Around eleven o’clock Tami’s voice came over the old-fashioned intercom. “Mr. Baxter? There’s a Harold Winslow here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment.”
Case rubbed the center of his forehead. Surely he owed Mellie this much. “Will you show him in, Tami? I’ll give Winslow fifteen minutes. As soon as we’re done, you and I can both lock up everything and leave.” The club would be shut down from noon today until Friday morning to give employees time to spend with their families.
A couple of minutes later, Tami escorted Harold into Case’s small office and excused herself. Case stood and held out his hand, not at all sure Harold would remember Saturday night’s fiasco.
Harold grimaced as he shook Case’s hand. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Baxter.”
“Please call me Case. And have a seat.”
Harold was dressed impeccably today in a sport coat, crisp slacks, and a shirt and tie. The metamorphosis was astonishing. The older man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I hope you’ll accept an apology for my behavior the last time you saw me. Not my finest hour. But I’m working on it.”
Case shrugged. “We all have our issues. What can I do for you today?”
Harold sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I’ve had inquiries from an investor about purchasing this property. So I think it’s in your and my best interests to discuss the current lease payments.”
“Wait a minute.” Case did some quick mental backflips and remembered Nathan telling him that the club sat on land belonging to Winslow Properties. But Case hadn’t thought anything about it at the time. He’d assumed there would be legal papers on file somewhere outlining the agreement. Since he didn’t know that for sure, he decided to tread carefully. “You’re talking about Samson Oil, right?”
Harold’s genial smile never faltered. “You’ve heard of them, I see. Their offer is very generous. But on the other hand, I’d hate to see the club have to move.”
Case flinched inwardly. The other man clearly thought he had the upper hand. “I’ve only just taken over as president,” Case said. “I’m still in the process of learning the ins and outs of the club’s operations. I wasn’t aware that it was time for contract negotiations.”
“My great-grandfather offered this property to the club years ago for a nominal fee. But we’ve never had more than a gentleman’s agreement. This might help.” Harold extracted a folded spreadsheet from his inside breast pocket. “Here’s the info from my files. The rent over the years has been very reasonable, as you can see. But we’re deep into a new century now, and I can’t let sentiment overrun my need to turn a profit.”
Case studied the figures, his expression impassive. In his chest, his heart pounded a warning rhythm. If there was no written agreement, Harold Winslow had the legal right to increase the lease payments anytime he saw fit.
“According to this schedule,” Case said slowly, giving himself time to think, “the rent has seen modest increases every two years. What did you have in mind?”
Harold named a figure that was twenty times the current lease payment. “I realize that’s a big jump, and I don’t want to make trouble. Still, think about what could happen. If I sell to Samson Oil, they might tear down this building entirely. All that history...gone in a flash.”
The threat was not even veiled. Harold Winslow had resorted to blackmail. And Case, who had been the new club president for all of ten minutes, was completely caught off guard.
“I’d have to convene my board,” Case said. “To talk this over.”
Harold smiled. But the calculating gleam in his eyes told Case this was not a friendly conversation.
“Not much to talk over,” Harold said. “Either you accept my terms, or you start looking for a new location to build the club.”
“Why would an oil company want land that was checked for oil over a century ago and found dry?”
Harold shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m a businessman. Money talks.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that the community might see you as greedy and unsympathetic and run you out of town?”
“Afraid not.”
“Royal would never let a new owner move the club from its present location. Have you talked to your daughter about all of this?”
Harold looked him straight in the eye. “Of course I have. Mellie wants money to expand her business. This was her idea.”
Direct hit. Goddamn it. “How do I know you’re telling the truth about that?”
“Women lie all the time. They manipulate you and make you believe what they want you to believe. Ask her how you happened to leave without your wallet the other night. See what she says. I think you’ll be surprised.”
* * *
Case drove back out to the ranch in a daze. Though Nathan had been the one to tell him that Mellie’s family owned the land on which the Texas Cattleman’s Club sat, Mellie herself had never actually mentioned it. The omission seemed painfully suspicious in light of today’s revelations.
And he got even more suspicious when he pulled up in front of his house and found Mellie sitting on the top step.
He got out of the car slowly, his mind racing. Memories of Leslie’s lies and machinations filled his throat with bile.
Mellie didn’t move. Instead, she waited for him to walk up the staircase. When she patted the seat beside her, he shook his head. “I’ll stand. Why are you here, Mellie?”
Her smile faltered. “I was feeling bad about the way we argued the other night. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I’m renewing my offer to cook for you.”
“No, thanks.” He didn’t dress up his refusal.
“Am I missing something?” she asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me your family owned the land where the TCC sits?”
She had the gall to look puzzled instead of guilty. “It’s not a secret. I guess it never came up. Or I thought you already knew.”
“And one more question. It wasn’t an accident that I lost my billfold at your house Saturday night, was it?”
This time the guilt on her face was clear. His heart shriveled in his chest, even as pain choked him. How could she look so open and sweet and plan to blackmail him?
“My father took it,” she said, “while you and I were in the kitchen. When I realized what he had done...after you left, I made him put the money back. That’s when you showed up at the door.”
“So, to be clear, you chose to protect your father rather than tell me the truth.” The incident wasn’t such a big thing by itself. But combined with Harold’s demand for an exorbitant rental increase, Case had to wonder what other things Mellie had been hiding from him.
Mellie went white, her expression agitated. “It all happened so fast. No harm was done. He does such stupid stuff when he’s drinking. I’m really sorry, Case.”
“My hat’s off to you, Mellie,” he said. The pain was gone now, replaced by a raging need to hurt her as much as she had hurt him. “You even told me what you were doing. Winning my trust little by little so you could blackmail me and line your pockets. It makes perfect sense that you turned down my fifty-thous
and-dollar offer. You had bigger plans...much bigger.”
She stood shakily. Since Case was a few steps below her, they faced each other eye to eye. “You’ve got this all wrong, Case. I don’t want your money.”
“Not mine, it seems. But your father just stood in my office and demanded a new Cattleman’s Club lease at twenty times the price. Threatened to sell the property out from under us if I don’t agree to his terms. You do want money. But far more than I was offering. And you don’t mind dragging my reputation through the mud to get what you want.”
“I’ll talk to him,” she swore. Ashen and trembling, she was very convincing.
“No more theater,” he said. “I know it was your idea. He told me so. The thing is, Mellie, if you hadn’t overplayed your hand, you could have ended up with a ring on your finger. I was falling for you. Hard. But I had a narrow escape. You and your dad have a nice little scam going. Maybe you even arranged for him to be on your front porch when I brought you home. I actually felt sorry for you.”
She reached for him. “I’ve been falling for you, too, Case. Please don’t let my father ruin what we have.”
Her touch burned his arm. Jerking away, he tried not to think about how it felt to rest in her arms. “What we have is nothing, Mellie. Nothing at all. You gambled and you lost. Now it’s over.”
* * *
Mellie drove back to town and later didn’t remember doing so. She was in shock. In denial. Case had looked at her with such cold fury and contempt she felt dirty.
Her first instinct was to hole up in her little house and hide. Thanksgiving came and went. Her father neither called nor came by. He was avoiding her, no doubt. Only on Friday did she find the strength to do what had to be done.
She went to her father’s office and found it empty. But everything she needed was on the computer and written on notepads in her father’s messy scrawl. Rapidly, she made a list of all the property to which the Winslows still held title. At one time, Harold had been one of the largest landowners in downtown Royal.
But in the past two years, he had sold off more and more, leaving him with only a dozen small tracts and two significant parcels of land—the one on which the TCC sat and the slightly larger one outside of town where the Courtyard was located.
After locking up the office, she went to her father’s house, where she found him passed out on the sofa. His condition was a reminder that she was doing the right thing. Though she had been prepared to have a knock-down, drag-out confrontation, she left without disturbing him.
Nathan Battle and one very cranky judge were next on her list. Judge Plimpton didn’t like being disturbed on the golf course.
Fortunately, Mellie had legal rights. Mellie’s mother had left her portion of Winslow Properties to Mellie and not Harold. So although Harold ran the company, Mellie was an equal partner.
By bedtime that night, all her plans had been set in motion.
* * *
Case was already regretting his election as club president. What was supposed to be a largely ceremonial title had landed him in a hell of a mess. It was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and here he sat in a room with two lawyers and the nine-member board.
One of the lawyers was speaking, shaking his head. “Sadly, Mr. Winslow is on firm ground in this instance as far as I can tell. As he told you, Mr. Baxter, the original lease arrangement from years ago was a gentleman’s agreement with Winslow’s ancestor. Unfortunately, subsequent generations saw no reason to add more official parameters. Gil Addison remembers a conversation with Harold Winslow at the beginning of his tenure, but at that time there was only a two percent increase in rent.”
One of the board members chimed in. “What if we were to offer to buy the land from Winslow?”
“With what?” Case had already combed through the ledgers. “The club has spent quite a bit of capital in the last few years, first on renovations and more recently to repair tornado damage. The financial bottom line is healthy but certainly not adequate to purchase a piece of property this size.”
The second lawyer checked his notes. “So what do we know about this Samson Oil company? Are we sure they would evict you immediately?”
Case ran a hand inside the back of his collar, feeling the walls closing in. “We don’t know much, unfortunately. Only that they have been quietly buying up property in and around Royal...and giving fair prices as far as I can tell. The thing is, though, a new landowner could choose to present us with even worse terms than those Winslow is offering.”
Everyone in the room fell silent. Though no one would blame Case for the current situation, in his gut, he felt guilty. If he hadn’t gotten involved with Melinda Winslow, she and Harold might never have concocted this scheme that might possibly cost the club its identity.
The first lawyer reinforced Case’s worst fears. “Mr. Baxter is right. Even if the entire town were to rise up in protest, there would be nothing to stop a legal landowner from doing anything and everything with this property. Without a written lease covenant, we’re in murky waters.”
Case pressed his temples, a pounding headache building. To move the club intact was impossible. The history within these walls was the history of Royal itself. It made him sick to think of how much they stood to lose.
“Let’s break for lunch,” he said. “We’ll reconvene at one.” In the meantime, he had no choice but to confront Mellie again and persuade her to reconsider.
He was too angry and upset to eat anything at all. So he locked himself in his office and dialed Mellie’s cell number. Time after time, his call went to voice mail. Hearing her speak was a knife to the heart.
But she never answered.
When he finally gave up, he rested his head in his hands and tried to think clearly. Mellie knew her father was an alcoholic. Why would she collude with him in such a distasteful maneuver?
Unless he was completely mistaken, and maybe he was, this scheme didn’t sound like Mellie at all.
When the lawyers and board members returned, Case was no closer than ever to a solution. He could live with embarrassment. He could even live with the fact that once again a woman had used him for financial gain. What he couldn’t bear was knowing that his community had placed their faith in him, and the club might lose everything on Case’s watch.
Discussion raged helplessly for three more hours, circling back again and again to the fact that Harold Winslow held all the cards. One by one, each man and woman in the room came to the same conclusion. The Texas Cattleman’s Club was facing a crisis as stark and painful in its own way as last year’s killer storm.
Suddenly, a knock on the door drew Case to his feet. Tami’s smile was apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Baxter. But this registered letter was just delivered, and it’s marked Urgent.”
“Thanks, Tami.”
Case turned to find the group progressing without him. He had no problem with that. It gave him a chance to tamp down dread before he opened the very official-looking envelope.
He read the brief message once, twice...a third time. All of his instincts went on high alert, looking for a further threat. The document made no sense.
Without explanation, he handed it over to one of the lawyers. Conversation ceased as everyone around the table sensed something of import going on.
The lawyer scanned the contents and showed it to his colleague. Both of them studied the letter before finally looking up wearing smiles. Lawyer number one shook his head. “It seems your problems are over, ladies and gentlemen. According to this, Winslow Properties has agreed—in writing—to keep the current lease price in place for the next five years. And they have no intention of selling the land to Samson Oil or anyone else.”
“But why?” One of the board members voiced the bafflement they were all feeling.
The second lawyer folded the letter and handed it back
to Case. “Who knows? Maybe there was never really an offer at all. But the point is, the crisis has been averted.”
Case frowned. “Why would Harold threaten me and then back down? It doesn’t make sense.”
Gil Addison shrugged. “Maybe he had second thoughts. Maybe he was drunk when he came up with his plan to gouge the club. Who knows? But that’s his signature. So why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
And maybe Mellie had been telling the truth. Maybe she’d had nothing to do with Harold’s ploy. Case nodded, but inside, his stomach churned.
The room cleared out quickly after that. Case spoke briefly with the two legal professionals, making sure there wasn’t anything more Case needed to do at the moment. Soon Case was the only one left.
He stood by the window, looking out at the crisp autumn day. Across the street, city workers stood on ladders beginning to hang this year’s Christmas decorations on the lampposts.
The momentum of the holiday season was in full swing. Even with all the activity going on up and down the busy thoroughfare, Case saw none of it. The only image burned in his brain was the memory of Mellie’s face when he tossed accusations at her.
Good God. What had he done?
He snatched up his keys and strode outside to his car, determined to see Harold Winslow face-to-face and demand the truth. The Winslow Properties offices were open, but inside, no Harold. Only a pleasant thirtysomething receptionist.
“Hello,” Case said, giving the woman his most nonthreatening smile. “I’m here to see Harold Winslow.”
“He’s not here,” the woman said. “May I take a message?”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Not for some time, sir. Miss Melinda will be running the business in her father’s absence.”
“I see.”
“Are you by any chance a friend of the family?”
“You could say that.”
“Shall I give you her phone number?”
Case swallowed. “I have it. Thanks.”
He wandered outside and leaned against the brick facade of the building, his heart in his boots. The enormity of his arrogant blunder stood before him...irredeemable...unforgivable. It was entirely possible he had ruined the best thing to ever happen to him. And all because he’d been hung up on the fact that his first wife had never really loved him...that when people looked at him, they saw dollar signs and not the man he was.
Courting the Cowboy Boss: Reclaimed by the Rancher Page 14
