The duct tape worked like magic. Because of Colt’s badly scratched hands, Summer wielded the roll. She made a mental note to carry a roll from now on.
On the return ride, each seemed content to live with his or her own thoughts, requiring little talk.
Once the outbuildings of the Forked Lightning came into view, Summer began thinking about settling the eaglets and getting her other chores out of the way before Rory arrived home from school. She’d spend an hour or so with him, then after supper, she needed to draw up plans for cutting the wheat and starting roundup. Normal, routine things sounded good after the day’s ordeal.
As the pair rode into the corral, Virgil hobbled out of the barn. He flagged Summer down. “Thank heavens you’re back. You’d no more than ridden out this morning when our wranglers showed up and quit. The lot of ’em.”
“This is a joke, right?” Summer handed Virgil the basket of squawking birds. “I owe Audrey a new knitting basket. Wait until you hear what this one’s been through.”
Colt reined in. “I don’t think Virgil’s kidding,” he said, drifting close enough to Summer for their knees to bump gently.
“I’m not joking, Summer. All of them yellow-bellied skunks gave notice. Not a man-jack of ’em had guts enough to tell you to your face.”
Summer’s smile disappeared. “All of them? Why? We’re only days from roundup. Every ranch in the valley has already hired its crew. They won’t find jobs now.”
“I’ve got my ideas. No proof, mind you. Mike claims they’ve all got five-day-a-week jobs at more money than they ever made wrangling steers.”
Colt recalled the scruffy bunch he saw at White’s, the men who immediately headed into the back room with Frank Marsh. Son of a bitch!
The light slowly dawned in Summer’s eyes. “Frank!” she blurted out. “I’ll bet my last dollar he’s behind this.” Dismounting, she tossed her reins to Virgil. “Will you see to the eaglets and curry Starlight? Oh, and could you ask Audrey to meet Rory’s bus again? Just don’t tell him I’ve gone into town to have a word with his father.”
“What good will that do?” Virgil yelled after her. “Hey, at least wait until you clean up. You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a wildcat.”
She jumped into her pickup and started it with a roar. “I’ll probably look worse after ten more rounds with a polecat. While I’m out, Virg, I’ll try and hire a new crew. And Coltrane—thanks, from the bottom of my heart.”
Virgil threw his hat on the ground. “Dang fool woman. Frank ain’t gonna listen. She’ll go there blowing off steam, and sure as shootin’ his lawyer will say she’s off her rocker or something. She won’t find a crew, either, and she knows it. All the good wranglers have been hired.”
“Do you need help getting the eaglets caged with their mother?” Colt asked.
“Huh?” Virgil turned his eyes away from the line of dust kicked up by Summer’s tires. “Nope. I can handle the menagerie. And I’ll rub down the horses if you want to go ahead and load your gelding. Wish to hell I was thirty years younger. I’d help Summer round up those cows myself. And if I wasn’t a peaceable man, I’d go punch Frank Marsh in the nose, too.”
“It’s hard to spend any time in town and not hear about the tussle going on between those two. Is it really feasible for Summer to run a spread of this size alone?”
“Ha, young fella! She ran this ranch single-handed for a long time, right after her daddy took to his bed. Before Frank Marsh set foot on the Forked Lightning. Oh, she could run it all right, if she had the capital. Frank’s out to bleed her dry.”
Colt climbed off his borrowed horse. Virgil had given him a lot to digest in that one mouthful. He needed time to think about what the old man had said. He also needed to phone Marc. This turn of events might throw the consortium a curve.
Pausing only to thank the old man for doctoring Spirit’s foreleg, Colt collected his horse from the corral, loaded him and drove off.
He passed Rory Marsh’s school bus on the road. Thinking about the boy, Colt was inclined to agree with Virgil about punching out Frank Marsh. The guy was a jackass. He didn’t deserve to profit from the sale of the Forked Lightning. Truth was, he would. The wheels were already set in motion. One way or another, Frank would get his half.
CHAPTER FIVE
COLT DIDN’T SEE SUMMER’S pickup parked anywhere along Central Avenue as he drove through town after dropping Spirit at the boarding stable. He went straight to his room at the motel and phoned Marc. He got a recording that said Marc was tied up in a meeting. Colt left a message for a return call, although he made it clear he planned to take a quick shower and then grab a late lunch.
Soaping up in the shower, he noticed that the scrapes on his hands were already beginning to heal after only one application of the ointment Summer carried in her saddlebags. She’d said it was some homemade concoction of Audrey’s. Come to think of it, Spirit’s leg seemed much improved, too. If Virgil’s wife had made both creams, he ought to suggest they patent the recipe and look for an interested company.
Colt knew a number of horse breeders who would pay plenty to find a fast-acting method designed to heal cuts and/or strained ligaments.
After toweling dry, he dressed to go out. He flipped a coin to choose where to eat—White’s or the Green Willow. The café won. Colt was tempted to override the coin toss. He was hankering to learn what Summer had said to Frank, and he figured he’d be more likely to hear gossip at the pub. And someone there would probably know if she’d been able to hire herself another crew.
Still, fair was fair. Why toss a coin if he was going to cheat? Giving in, Colt left his room and crossed the street, headed for the café.
Surprisingly, the Green Willow bustled with patrons. Somehow, he’d expected it to be quieter. He chose to sit at the counter where several rancher-types were drinking coffee. A waitress whipped past and filled the cup in front of him. “I’ll be back in a jiffy to take your order,” she said.
Colt nodded and huddled over his cup, tuning out the talk around him, until a grizzled rancher walked in, sat down and threw his hat on the counter. “Have you guys heard the news? Summer Marsh lost her whole crew of wranglers.”
Heads spun toward him, including Colt’s.
“It’s true. And she thinks Frank engineered their departure,” said the white-haired newcomer.
“Whadda you think, Bud?” A second rancher slid off his stool and tossed some coins on the counter as he prepared to leave.
Another man leaned back and stuck a toothpick in his mouth. “Personally, I don’t believe Frank Marsh is that smart. And unless his new lady friend’s paying the freight, I doubt he has the bucks to lure cash-poor wranglers away from steady work.”
A younger, bowlegged cowboy slid onto the stool just vacated. “You dudes discussing what happened out at the Forked Lightning?”
All heads bobbed, except for Colt’s. He kept his eyes forward.
“Sorry to ruin that theory, Bud, but the black widow of real estate didn’t dream up this nasty deal. Kenny West, the bartender at White’s, said Summer’s crew got cushy jobs at a resort owned by the wheeler-dealer who’s trying to buy the Callan ranch.”
Ed Adams. Colt should have known someone else was putting up the dough. He barely noted the cowboy’s reference to the ranch as belonging to a Callan rather than Frank Marsh.
“Hey, good-looking.” A waitress old enough to be Colt’s grandmother refilled his cup. “Didn’t mean to ignore you. We’re all caught up in Callanton’s ongoing soap opera. What’ll you have?”
“I’ll take your steak sandwich. Medium rare.”
“Salad or fries with that?”
Colt tried to watch what he ate when he was on the road, which he was a lot. “I always want steak fries like you serve here, Betty,” he said, using the name stitched on the pocket of her uniform. “But I’ll have salad. Better for the waistline,” he joked, patting his flat stomach.
She wrote his order on a pad. “I�
��ve noticed you hanging around town lately. Just passing through, or are you looking for work?”
“Are you hiring?” Colt’s laughing eyes studied the sun-wrinkled woman through the steam rising off his mug.
“We’re full up here. Except we always need dishwashers. Somehow I can’t see you with dishpan hands. Nope, I’m talking man’s work. You must’ve overheard these fellows discussing one of our local ranchers. Summer Marsh needs help with her roundup. She pays competitive wages and provides room and board.”
Colt sipped his coffee. All the men at the counter took his measure. Damn. When he moved into a town to do undercover work for SOS, he’d hoped to keep a low profile. Now, how was he going to get out of this one?
“Those are nasty rope burns you’ve got on your hands, son,” remarked the man seated on Colt’s left. Almost as fast, the fellow swung back to address the waitress. “I’d say we have a rodeo man here, Betts. Calf roper?” The old-timer shot Colt a smug, sideways wink along with the not-so-subtle question. “Must’ve got hurt at the rodeo in Pendleton. Those rope burns are scabbing over.”
Flexing his fingers, Colt saw an out and grabbed it. “Damn, you’re sharp. But I suppose rope burns are plenty recognizable to a cattleman.”
“They are to an old rodeo bum like me. Burned hands and all, I envy you, son. Had to give it up, myself. Compliments of a devil bronc who bucked over and caught me between a fence and my saddle. Now I’m stuck hard-scrabbling a living off a few measly acres, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah.” Vacant blue eyes turned inward now, as if looking back on happier times.
Betty stepped away momentarily but soon returned to slam down Colt’s plate of food, followed by salt, pepper and ketchup. The change in her demeanor told Colt she didn’t think highly of rodeo contenders. Carefully keeping his expression neutral, he cut his sandwich in half and began to eat. He kept an ear tuned for more gossip on the ongoing Marsh saga. Which didn’t take long. Apparently the others also judged him to be a rodeo player, and no further comment seemed to be required. They were soon back discussing the day’s hot topic.
A big man—Colt guessed him to be part Native American from his blue-black hair and bronzed skin—entered and took a seat. “Howdy, guys. Did I hear Summer’s name? I ran into her at the feed store. Going by the state of her clothes, I’d say she came straight into town off the range. She asked if I could spare any wranglers. I wish I could cut a salary, beef prices slipping the way they did. But I need every hand I’ve got. Especially if I’m gonna believe my grandfather’s predictions for a harsher-than-normal winter, and one coming early. I’ve decided to round up and sell two-thirds of my stock this month.”
“That right, Jesse?” cut in the former rodeo rider. “Two Bears is contradicting the almanac again? Bugger. Last time he predicted an early drought, I didn’t listen. Lost a quarter of my calves in that dry spell. I swore to heed your grandpa’s advice from then on.”
The big man, Jesse, laughed. “Me, too. I don’t claim to know how Two Bears reaches his conclusions. I just know he’s always right.”
“So, Jesse? Did Summer manage to hire any replacements?” asked the older rancher who’d first mentioned Summer’s plight.
Jesse shook his head. The ensuing silence didn’t bode well for her success.
Jesse then added a bit of information Colt stored to pass along to Marc.
“I wish you guys could’ve watched her nail Frank right there in front of everyone loading feed. He pretended to feel sorry for her, the lying bastard. Slick as you please, he offered to try and talk the developer, Adams, into buying the ranch as is, before roundup. I guess you know where our Summer told Frank to stick that suggestion. Someplace the sun don’t shine.”
They all guffawed except Colt, who frowned at his steak sandwich.
The young cowboy sighed. “It’s funny, until you stop to think about it. Summer and Virg ain’t got a hope of winning against Frank. Community property law is on his side, I’m afraid.”
Colt found his appetite waning. If Summer caved in to Frank early, Marley might be hard-pressed to collect cash fast enough to top Adams’s bid. Sobered by the thought, Colt fished out money for his meal and placed it beside his half-eaten sandwich. Muttering “G’bye” to the ex-rodeo cowboy, he collected his Stetson from the rack by the door and hurriedly left the café.
Back in his room, he was glad to see his message light blinking. The call wasn’t from Marc, however, but from the big man himself, Marley Jones.
Colt lost no time returning Marley’s call. “It’s Coltrane. I got a message from Marley,” he informed his boss’s long-time secretary.
The words were no more than out when Jones came on the line. “Trane, what’s up in Oregon? The service transferred your urgent message to me. Marc’s on his way to Utah. I understood he didn’t expect to hear from you until the end of the week.”
“That’s right. But we may have trouble here. Frank Marsh teamed up with Ed Adams to hire away Mrs. Marsh’s wranglers. She’s due to start fall roundup.”
“Damnation! That sneaky SOB’s trying to force her hand before the six-month extension is up.”
“Looks that way to me. Scuttlebutt says that when she confronted Frank today, he more or less said Adams is prepared to buy right now cattle-on-the-hoof.”
“Hmm. Is she amenable?”
“Not!” Colt responded dryly. “However, she refused in the heat of anger. In the colder light of reason, she may feel differently. The ranchers I heard talking don’t believe she can survive. Or rather, she’d need one of two things to successfully hold Adams off.”
“Yeah? What two things?”
“Wranglers to drop out of the sky or a bank loan equal to half of Adams’s offer. Neither of which appears to be lurking on the horizon.”
Marley was silent a moment. “The consortium’s coffers are stretched thin right now. Too thin. Okay, I’ll tell you what, Coltrane. I want you to hire on and help the lady with her roundup. It’ll buy us some time. I only need a few weeks.”
“What?” Colt’s shock exploded so loudly even he flinched. “Sorry, boss. I just think that’s a bad idea.”
“Why?” Jones asked sharply.
Colt stumbled over his tongue. He couldn’t give a legitimate answer, dammit. He couldn’t tell the big boss that the lady in question did funny things to his stomach. Or that she triggered long-dormant emotions.
“Be-because,” Colt ended up stammering.
“Well, that’s a solid reason if ever I heard one.” Marley didn’t sound amused.
“Then how about this?” Colt said. “I’m only one man. A horseman. Mrs. Marsh had three, maybe four seasoned cowpunchers. How in hell do I compete with that?”
“Ask her for the foreman’s job. Say you have someone you can hire. I’ll put my nephew, Tracey, on the next plane to—what’s your closest airport? Boise? All the kid ever wanted was to cowboy. He spent this past summer in Wyoming harvesting hay and such. Cows eat hay, don’t they?”
“Dammit, Marley, no! Is that your sister’s kid? The one from New York City I met at your place? He’s what? All of sixteen?”
Marley laughed. “Come on, Coltrane. Tracey’s nineteen. He’s in Utah with Marc—hoping to find a job on a ranch. Like you, he’s set on having his own spread someday. The situation you have in Oregon is tailor-made for the kid. I guarantee he’ll be jumping for joy.”
“Yeah. Well, that makes one of us.”
“I’m surprised at you, son. Knowing how much you want a ranch of your own again, I’d think you’d jump at any chance to sit on a saddle even temporarily.”
That part did appeal to Colt. Working side by side with Summer Marsh appealed, too. And it shouldn’t. That was the problem. But it seemed he had no choice.
“All right,” Colt agreed ungraciously. “Have Mossberger ship three more of my horses here for Trace and me. If I’m doing this, I’m going to work in style. Tell
Mossberger I want Gambler, Moon Shadow and Mystic.” Colt recited the address of the boarding stable. He knew his request was as good as filled when he heard the scratch of Marley’s pen. At the same time, he made a mental note to call Tucker’s Stable tonight to ask for additional stalls.
“What happens if Mrs. Marsh won’t hire me?”
“Not an option. Charm your way just like you charmed your way into this job last year.” There was a loud click in Colt’s ear as Marley hung up.
Feeling grouchier than a bear, Colt slammed down his receiver. He stomped around his room aimlessly for five minutes or so until he calmed down enough to flop on the bed and try to put together a pitch for Summer. If only he hadn’t smarted off earlier, saying he’d need to see a psychiatrist if he ever offered to help her again.
Crossing his hands behind his head, Colt shut his eyes and groaned. If that didn’t teach him to think before he opened his trap and stuck his foot in, boot and all, nothing would.
But what bothered him even more was the idea of helping her, only to jerk the rug out from underneath her a few weeks later. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn’t erase the memory of the risks she’d taken to save those birds.
Summer Marsh had heart to go with a full measure of grit. Any fool could see how much she loved that ranch. Knowing it made this job different from the previous transaction on which he’d done a preliminary investigation. That owner had wanted to sell.
Thanks to Oregon divorce law, one way or another, the Forked Lightning was headed for the sale blocks, too.
Well, there was no sense in sitting around all night worrying about something he had to face sooner or later. “Might as well bite the bullet, Quinn.”
Getting to his feet, Colt dug out his pickup keys. But he couldn’t make himself drive straight out to Summer’s ranch. Guilt wouldn’t let him go empty-handed.
Wide Open Spaces (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 8
