Jess scowled. “She’s not my—”
But Ruby was already marching away at a spry pace, her sneakers squeaking on the shiny white floor tiles. “I’ll put you in that one in the back. More privacy.”
Relieved, Casey followed the tiny woman past a spattering of tables, where late-morning patrons were chatting over coffee and huge platters of food. Maybe Ruby didn’t remember her. Or maybe her eyesight was weak or she’d been so distracted with her pie baking that she hadn’t really looked at her. But when Jess’s aunt plopped both coffeepots down on the table and took a seat across from her in the booth, Casey knew Ruby Cayhill didn’t miss a thing.
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna snitch on you,” she said without preamble. “It was clear to me you didn’t want Jess to know we’d met before, and that’s all right. Can’t have you croakin’ from fright in my place. But I do need to know somethin’.” Ruby’s keen blue eyes sharpened. “Just what’re yer intentions toward my nephew?”
Casey felt her jaw go slack. “My...intentions?”
“That’s what I said.” Ruby clasped her hands on the table. “You showed up at the ranch last night lookin’ fer Ross. This mornin’, yer here with Jess, and wearin’ the same clothes.” She paused, and her voice softened. “Now, what two consentin’ adults do in private is none of my concern. I just don’t want that boy hurt.”
Casey blushed to the roots of her hair. Jess’s aunt thought they’d slept together? Of course, with her clothing wrinkled and her hair twirled into a haphazard bun, that might be a natural assumption for anyone to make. “Look, Mrs.—Aunt Ruby—it’s not what you think. I did stay at the ranch last night, but...” Casey hesitated, struggling to come up with the right words. It was too late to say she wouldn’t hurt him; she’d already done that, though not in the way Ruby feared. “It’s a very long story,” she said finally. “Maybe you should ask Jess.” Who was, at that very moment, walking toward them. He was carrying two cups, and two teaspoons were snugged into the right front pocket of his jeans.
“Ask Jess?” Ruby scoffed. “That boy won’t tell me nothin’. He thinks I’m a snoopy old busybody, which I am. But at seventy-six—and as his kin—it’s my right.”
“Has there been an inquisition?” Jess’s deep, dry voice cut into their conversation. He set the spoons and the two stoneware mugs down, then ignored the decaf and picked up the “regular” coffeepot. As he filled their cups, he sent his aunt a pointed look. “Should I have brought three mugs?”
“No, no, I was just leavin’.” Jess offered his hand to help her out of the booth, and she gripped it. “Sharon’ll be by to take yer order directly. Ten-thirty, and she’s still tryin’ to get her caboose movin’.” Ruby chuckled and rolled her eyes. “The boyfriend’s home on leave.” She started away, then paused to wink at Casey. “Order the waffles. You won’t be able to eat ’em all, but Jess loves his waffles—them and apple pie are his favorites. He’ll help you finish.”
Jess sighed heavily as his aunt and her coffeepots took their leave. Then he shed his hat, roughed a hand through his thick shag of black hair and sat down. “So did she drag out the rubber hose?”
They were joking words, but Casey knew his mood was anything but light. Still, she’d noticed that he was a very different man when he was in the company of people he liked. “No rubber hose, but she did want to know what my intentions were toward you.”
“Oh. Then I guess you told her you were only planning to bankrupt me and take my land.”
Casey’s head sagged back in defeat, and she stared at the fans rotating lazily overhead. Apparently, this wasn’t going to be an amicable discussion. Which was a shame, because the café was such a bright, homey place, with its red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and big, chrome-trimmed sugar and napkin dispensers, that she might have actually enjoyed herself here under different circumstances. Bringing her head down and meeting his level stare, she said, “No. I didn’t.”
A young waitress hurried to their booth, fumbling with two oversize menus and an order book, a spot on her jaw so whisker-burned it was almost raw. Casey almost felt jealous. This girl had someone special in her life. The girl smiled happily, showing pretty white teeth as she proffered the menus. “What can I get you folks?” she asked. “Waffles, Mr. Dalton?”
“Not today, Sharon, thanks.” He scowled. “If I can keep the coffee down this morning I’ll be doing something.”
She giggled. “Rough night, huh?” Her gaze shifted to Casey. “Miss? Do you need a few minutes yet?”
“Nothing for me, either, thanks.”
Sharon blinked, perplexed, then shrugged, gathered the menus and left them alone.
Jess got straight down to business. “Well, there’s no way we can come up with sixty thousand dollars right now. We need to hire a part-time hand, and the rest of our operating capital has to be used to get our herd ready for auction in the fall.” He paused, and Casey glimpsed the anger and frustration he was feeling. “Would you be willing to accept a new agreement? Say...two thousand today, and—”
She shook her head. She sympathized, but she had to look out for herself. The days of letting other people run her life were over. “I’m sorry, that’s not acceptable. You’re living in a home with what is obviously an antique Tiffany lamp sitting on a Louis XIV table—and that’s only what I’ve seen. You do have resources.”
Jess glared, and his voice went low with contempt. “Lady, if you think I’m going to let you turn my home into your personal garage sale, you’ve got another think coming. Those two pieces are all I have left of my mother’s things. I’m not selling them off to placate a woman who could probably buy and sell me three times over.”
His voice had grown louder with his last statement, and Casey glanced uncomfortably around the restaurant, where they were picking up some curious looks.
“Quite frankly, the only way I can imagine paying you back is putting you to work instead of hiring someone else, and handing you Ross’s share of the cattle sale in the fall. And that would be only a down payment.”
Casey shook her head adamantly. “Absolutely not.” But as silent seconds, then minutes, ticked by, and no other solution came to mind, she realized with a sinking feeling that this might be the only way. Angry as he made her, she couldn’t sell him out; it wasn’t right. And she had no doubt that he was telling the truth about the ranch’s money problems for that very reason: she could sell him out. Besides, she had no job, no income, no home to speak of, and no obligations. If spending three or four months here would eventually help her regain her independence...repugnant as the prospect was, she could do it.
Casey drew a deep breath, much as a prisoner might as he walked toward the gallows. “All right.”
It had been a while since she’d spoken, and he didn’t understand. “All right, what?” Jess muttered.
“All right, I’ll work the ranch with you.”
Jess stared at her blankly. When she didn’t take the words back, his dark eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“But I am.” Casey pushed her coffee cup aside. Suddenly, the future that stretched ahead of her made even coffee unpalatable. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. You seem to think I have all this money, and nothing could be further from the truth. The truth is...” She hesitated for a moment, feeling disloyal, but then went on. “The truth is, when my husband died, he left me with an enormous debt. It’s taken me this long to pay everyone back.”
Jess’s mouth twisted skeptically. “Let me get this straight. Your husband—the cardiologist—left you broke.”
Casey nodded. “Right now, the only thing I can honestly call my own is a ridiculously expensive wardrobe and twenty-eight-hundred dollars.” Dane’s ineptitude had taken care of everything else, right up to and including letting his life insurance lapse. But she had to admit she’d contributed to their debt. She’d happily accepted the designer shopping sprees, taken the European vacations, thrown the parties he’d been so fon
d of.
Jess reached into his back pocket, withdrew his wallet and tossed his driver’s license on the table. “Can you read the date of birth on this thing?”
Casey sent him a confused look, then scanned the date and handed it back to him. “It says March twenty-second, nineteen—”
“Oh, good,” he said dryly, tucking it back inside his wallet. “Then I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Casey’s irritation returned. “All right, it sounds incredible, but it’s true. I loved him, but Dane didn’t have the business sense God gave rice—and you’re welcome to call my attorney. He’ll confirm it.” She threw out a hand in frustration. “Do you think I’d even consider spending more time with you if my options weren’t limited? I’m broke, I’m unemployed, and I’ve had to move back in with my mother because I can’t afford an apartment.” Casey batted away a strand of hair that had caught in her lashes. “Face facts, Mr. Dalton. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But we do need each other.”
Three hours later—after they’d arrived at a tentative arrangement and dropped off her rental car in Bozeman—Casey answered the knock on her door. It was the same room with the plain maple furniture, white chenille bedspread and daisy wallpaper that she’d attempted to commandeer last night. The room Jess called the nursery, because it had been used as such when he and Ross were children. Which explained the adjoining door to the master bedroom. Jess stood in the hall, his expression grave. Casey imagined he didn’t much like knocking on a door in his own home.
Ignoring any pleasantries, he got straight to the point. “If you’ve finished unpacking, I’d like to speak to you in the den.”
“All right,” Casey answered warily, wondering what he wanted to discuss. She had finished unpacking—not a big job, considering that she’d packed for three days, not three months. But putting her clothes away had presented a problem; she’d tucked her lingerie into the colonial dresser, but her street clothes hadn’t fared well after being crushed in a suitcase for over thirty-six hours. Casey glanced back at the wrinkled blouses and slacks hanging from those terrible wire coat hangers in the closet. “If it’s okay, after our talk, I’d like to borrow your steamer.”
“My steamer?” he repeated sarcastically.
Casey cringed, realizing how silly that sounded. The man’s clothes were cotton and denim—easy-care, easy-wear. Today, his shirt was a soft, buff-colored chamois with plain buttons, tailored to fit. Open at the throat, with the sleeves rolled back over muscular forearms, it topped the requisite Levi’s and cowboy boots. “Do you...have an iron?”
“Of course we have an iron. We’re not savages. I’ll get it for you later. Right now, we need to get a few things straight between us.”
Casey withheld a sigh. It was going to be a long three months, if all she could expect from him was thinly veiled contempt. Closing the door behind her, she followed his rigid form down the stairs and into the den. He gestured toward the leather chair behind the massive walnut desk, and she took a seat, studying him apprehensively. Now what? She thought she’d answered all his questions—addressed all his misgivings—on the way back from Bozeman.
Jess laid a one-page typewritten agreement in front of her, then handed her a pen. “You’ve got your piece of paper,” he said coldly. “I want mine. Look it over, then sign it.” Then he grabbed the ever-present black Stet son and left, letting the storm door slam behind him.
Wearily Casey picked up the paper and scanned it, wondering if poverty wasn’t a better option than spending a long, hot summer with Jess Dalton. Let’s see, she thought. The date was right.... He’d spelled her name right.... He’d gotten the amount of the loan right....
Suddenly, Casey’s blood went hot, and every newly combative nerve in her body snapped to life.
Chapter 4
Casey flew to the front door, strode out onto the porch, then angrily descended the stairs when she spied Jess down by the barn. He was leading a huge bay horse through the doors, its sleek coat shining in the late-May, mid-afternoon sun. With long strides, she ate up the considerable distance between the house and the man who’d forged the ludicrous contract she held in her hand.
He was beside the corral when she reached him, tightening the cinch on the bay’s saddle. “Do I look like a naive child to you?”
Jess turned briefly, a bored look on his face. “You have a problem?”
“No, you do, if you think I’m signing this agreement the way it’s written.”
He finished, checked the saddle for looseness, then gave her his full attention. His expression went cold. “What’s wrong with the way it’s written? The note you’re holding gives you the right to take away a hundred years of Dalton-owned land. All I asked for was four months of your time, and the assurance that you’ll give us two years to repay the debt in full.”
She expelled a short, mirthless laugh. “You asked for a lot more than that.” Casey read aloud the line that had set her blood boiling: “‘...an in return, Catherine Marshall will do whatever tasks are required of her by the management of the Broken straw Ranch, and will expect no salary for doing so.’” She sent him a blistering look as she crumpled the page and stuffed it into the pocket of his shirt. “Whatever tasks are required? You’ve been trying to get under my skin with crude ambiguities since I got here, and I’m tired of it. Change the wording.”
“Crude ambiguities?” The horse beside him shifted impatiently, and Jess scratched the big bay behind the ears. The calming gesture was in direct conflict with the chill in his dark eyes. “At the café, you said you could ride—do anything any part-timer could do—because of all that experience you got at your fancy Chicago riding club. If there was anything ambiguous in the wording of that agreement, it was in your mind. What tasks did you think I meant, Mrs. Marshall? Because, believe me, if I wanted anything sexual from a woman, you’d be the last person I’d come to. Black widows kill after mating.”
“I want it all spelled out, nice and neat,” Casey said evenly, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. “Every job you might ask me to perform. And I won’t work for nothing.”
“I thought the whole point of your working here was to avoid our paying another wage.” Jess shoved his left foot into the stirrup and swung aboard the muscular bay, forcing Casey to look up at him. The smells of hay, dust and horseflesh rode the air, not entirely unpleasant. “What kind of salary do you expect?”
Levering herself onto the top rail of the corral, she faced him eye-to-eye, taking away his dominant position on horseback. “Not much. Some spending money—enough to buy some appropriate clothes, so I can handle all those tasks you’ve got lined up for me.” She paused. “And if you can’t see your way clear to do that much for me...I’m sorry, but I’ll be forced to take other steps.”
Something close to fear flickered through Jess’s eyes at her implied threat—the threat that she would sell her interest in the ranch if he didn’t agree. Then his gaze went cold again. He pulled the wadded agreement from his shirt pocket and tossed it to her. “All right. Two hundred a month plus food and lodging. Make the necessary changes and leave it on the desk.”
“What about my job description?”
“Oh, yes, your job description,” Jess drawled. “By all means, change the wording to your satisfaction.” Then he reined the bay in a fluid half circle, ironclad hooves churning up dust and stones. His dark gaze slid over Casey’s wrinkled clothing. “Take my truck to town tomorrow and get what you need from Hardy’s Mercantile—jeans, shirts, a decent jacket. Put them on my bill.”
A moment passed, while a muscle worked in his jaw. Then he continued. “You shouldn’t have a problem finding your way to town after driving it three times in the past twenty-four hours.”
Three times? Casey winced inwardly, but remained silent. She knew where his statement was leading, and she wasn’t going to help him get there.
“No, I didn’t miss your mention of my ‘grandmother’ last night. Obviously, you were here earlier—hours b
efore our serendipitous little meeting outside Dusty’s. You drove out gunning for Ross, and found my aunt instead.” His distrustful gaze held hers, an unspoken accusation hanging in the air. Once again, she’d kept the truth from him. “Make it two-fifty a month.” He bit the words out, tugging his hat low. “I’ll be back by five.”
Before she could ask what she was supposed to do in the two hours between now and then, Jess put his bootheels to the horse’s ribs, and the bay loped off down the road.
Casey watched Jess’s broad shoulders and tapering back as he passed outbuildings in need of paint, a new, unpainted barn and fenced-in pastures still showing sparse patches of snow, despite the moderate temperature. Eventually, he rounded a thick stand of fir trees and disappeared.
“A fifty-dollar raise already,” she muttered to herself, easing down from the railing and dusting off the seat of her pants. “Lucky me.”
Yes, she was lucky, all right, she thought an hour later as she stepped out of the hot, steamy shower across the hall from her room. She was working for a tyrant, in a place she loathed, at a monthly salary that wouldn’t have paid for the blouse she’d left on her bed a few minutes ago. Sighing, Casey blotted herself dry with one of the towels from the chrome rack, then ran a skeptical eye over the assortment of blouses and slacks hanging from towel racks and light fixtures—even from the old-fashioned wainscoting that crept halfway up the wall. The wrinkles seemed to be relaxing a bit, though the iron Jess had promised would have done a better job. Casey tucked the towel around her, then grabbed another off the bar and wrapped her wet hair. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her clothes draped all over his bathroom, but until she shopped tomorrow—with her own money—she needed something decent to wear.
Reaching inside the shower curtain, she turned the hot spray back on, giving her clothes another brief shot of steam. Then she turned off the spigot, hurried into the hall and shut the bathroom door behind her to close in the vapors. She was lucky, all right. If she got much luckier—
Accidental Heiress Page 5
