Wide Open Spaces (Harlequin Super Romance)

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Wide Open Spaces (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 13

by Fox, Roz Denny


  Colt didn’t want to be having this conversation. He needed to distance himself from Summer Marsh, not become her confidant. He did that by giving his horse a little more rein and crossing the line of dust kicked up by Jim Dandy and his heifers.

  Summer circled behind, turning the group more to the northeast. Riding back to where her path intersected with Colt’s, she regenerated the one-sided conversation. “Do you know anyone who’s had a civilized divorce? Was yours, Quinn?”

  His head jerked up.

  “At the café, you left the impression that you’d instigated the proceedings. It seems to me the person doing that has the distinct advantage.”

  “Look, Summer. My wife divorced me, not the other way around. And from my standpoint, she had every advantage.”

  His tone was so frosty, it took Summer a minute or so to get beyond that and digest his words. What did his terse statement mean? Did he or did he not want his divorce? If not, maybe he was still licking his wounds. She knew from personal experience that the wound-licking part of divorce could last much too long—even if your partner was a first-class jerk.

  “Breaking up is difficult under any circumstance, I suppose. It has the smell of failure about it.” She sighed.

  Colt glanced at her, then away. She had an uncanny knack for getting straight to the heart of a man’s feelings. Failure was exactly what he’d felt when he finally escaped that jungle prison. The mission had gone sour due to his capture. Strangers had buried his parents in his stead while he was away. And Monica wasn’t the woman he thought he’d married. She’d tossed aside everything he’d worked for all his life. If that didn’t spell failure with a capital F, Colt didn’t know what did.

  Summer, who’d become adept at reading moods, read Colt’s, which had gone from cloudy to stormy. Plainly, he didn’t want to discuss divorce. Not his and not hers.

  She clamped a hold on her tongue, and as she rode, mused over the unexpected kiss he’d initiated earlier.

  Why had he kissed her? Because he’d been too long without a woman? Any woman? Probably. Not meaning to, Summer sighed again.

  “This might be a good time for some business talk,” he muttered. “Why don’t you outline what you expect of Trace and me.”

  “Certainly. Chasing bullnappers isn’t a run-of-the-mill occurrence for us,” she said, injecting irony in her tone.

  “You mentioned needing to cut wheat. Trace has experience. Is that something he can handle while you and I begin rounding up your herd?”

  “Don’t I wish? No. As machine-oriented as we are these days, some things still require man-and woman-power. I’m afraid we have to harvest the wheat, haul it to the co-op granary up the road, cut and bale hay for the winter, all before we start roundup. It’s the three of us, with occasional help from Virgil—unless you have a few more men like Tracey Jackson up your sleeve.”

  “Nope. I wish I did. What you see is what you get, Summer. We’re probably nowhere near as efficient as the crew you lost. But we’ll do our best.”

  “I appreciate all your help, Colt. Frank would like to see me roll over and play dead. I’m too angry at him to do that. My father would turn over in his grave if he had any inkling of the disaster Frank’s caused.”

  “Oh? I understood Frank and your dad were good friends.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “You don’t have to beat about the bush, Colt. I’m sure there’s gossip in town saying my dad trolled for a husband to marry his headstrong only daughter.”

  Colt avoided her probing eyes. “I can’t recall if anyone said that in so many words. I think someone might’ve said a friendship developed between your father and Frank Marsh, which led to your marriage.”

  “Come on, Colt. This from the person who remembered every detail he’d heard about Two Bears outsmarting the almanac? Give me a break.”

  “I see you’re dying to set me straight, and I have to admit that after meeting Frank and also meeting you, I’ve wondered how you two hooked up. So go ahead. Lay it all out and let’s clear the air.”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “The truth can be at times. Rest assured, you’re speaking to someone who’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Thank you very much,” she drawled sarcastically. “Well, here’s the story. As the only child of a single parent, I was raised to be independent. A trait not necessarily compatible with being a ranch wife, which Dad only discovered after I passed the ripe old age of twenty-five and he noticed all the local men had married more tractable women. By then, Dad was ill. He started to worry about the fate of his ranch.”

  “Just the fate of the ranch?”

  “I’m afraid that’s how it seems, looking back. I suppose he could have started out feeling genuine concern for my happiness. He was terminally ill, understand. I had a full plate taking care of him and running the ranch. Although at the time I took each day as it came, and it didn’t seem overwhelming. The very last thing I wanted then was a husband.”

  “So you objected to Frank from the outset?”

  A deep crimson flush washed over Summer’s cheeks. “No. Frank can be very charming when it suits him. And I admit to being as susceptible as any woman.”

  “Quit giving him so much credit. Just say he suckered you when your defenses were at their lowest.”

  Summer twisted in her saddle to look at Colt, her eyes wide. “Haven’t you ever needed anyone, Coltrane?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said gruffly. “But when the chips are down, a person has to do what’s best for numero uno. Hey, hallelujah! Isn’t that the ranch?”

  Summer nodded. In a way she was sorry to have arrived. She found Colt’s statement curious. Almost a warning.

  Her own foolish insecurities were to blame for thinking that, she decided later, watching Colt and Trace put their backs into finishing the corral. And they were so good with answering the millions of questions Rory tossed at them after he got home from school. She was grateful for their kindness to him.

  Discarding earlier concerns, Summer picked up the day’s mail and went into her office.

  Colt walked in on her an hour later. Two letters were open on her desk. She had her face buried in her hands, and her shoulders shook from silent weeping.

  “Summer? What is it? More bad news?”

  She sat up abruptly and mopped her face. “Oh, Colt. I’m sorry you caught me in another weak moment. It’s nothing I didn’t expect. Two of the three banks I applied to for loans turned me down flat.”

  Colt mustered a thin smile. “Until you hear from number three, there’s still hope, I guess.”

  She managed to dig up an answering smile. “That’s one way to look at the situation, Coltrane. And the day wasn’t a total loss. I phoned Jesse Cook. He’s delighted Jim Dandy took up with a couple of his heifers. He wants me to keep them for a few days. He’s agreed to pay almost the full stud fee.”

  “Well, see?” Colt liked having her smile. “Things are looking up.”

  “Absolutely. I should start thinking my jar is half full instead of half empty. Very probably the worst that can happen to the ranch already has.” She jumped up and tore the two letters into pieces.

  “I’m sure you didn’t come in here to give me a pep talk,” she said suddenly.

  “No. I came to tell you the corral is up. And Audrey said supper’s on the table. I also wanted to let you know Trace and I will take turns keeping an eye on Jim Dandy tonight. Virgil said you’ll want to start cutting grain at daybreak. Is that right?”

  “Yes. We’ll leave after I feed the menagerie.” Summer walked outside with him. A wind had come up and the evening had grown chill. She shivered.

  Colt glanced at the clear blue sky. “Tomorrow, then. If your faith in Two Bears isn’t misplaced, we’d better light a fire in our bellies and get that wheat cut.”

  “Now who’s joined the believers?” she teased.

  Colt had no answer for her. Damn, but it took so little to give her hope. And apparently
he was good at offering hope. Yet, in the end she was still going to lose—everything.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NIGHT PASSED WITHOUT incident. Early the following morning, the sheriff drove in as Colt and Trace met at the barn, reporting for work. The sheriff, a big man with sun-weathered skin, stepped from his Chevy Blazer, saw Colt and Tracey, and in a less-than-casual motion, released the snap on his swivel holster.

  Colt imagined the scene turning ugly had Summer not emerged from the barn just then. “Dane, hi.” She moved in and quickly introduced her new employees. “Good Lord, Dane, you’re probably going to think my head drains faster than a bathtub. Yesterday, Colt found Jim Dandy on free range, cozied up to a couple of Jesse Cook’s heifers. I phoned Jesse, but clean forgot to call your office and cancel your trip out here. Since you made the drive, go on up to the house, why don’t you, and sample Audrey’s cinnamon rolls. There’s fresh coffee to go with them.”

  Sheriff Morse opened his mouth to respond, but Virgil hobbled out of the barn carrying two buckets brimming with fresh milk. Summer left the group to dash over and relieve the old man of the heavy containers.

  “Dane, howdy,” Virgil said. “You got around to investigating our theft, I see.”

  “Sorry to be tardy, Virgil. But according to Summer, this stranger here brought her prize bull home.” Dane Morse studied Colt in a way designed to make guilty men confess. A fact not lost on Virgil—or Colt.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sheriff,” the older man said genially. “When you get back to town, ask which of Frank Marsh’s pals went missing from White’s Bar night before last.”

  “You think Frank…?”

  Summer insinuated herself between the men. “It doesn’t really matter. I have Jim Dandy back, so no real harm was done.” She inclined her head toward the house. Rory had burst out the door and was skipping toward them. “Shh,” she warned.

  “Sheriff Morse.” Rory skidded to a stop near Colt. “Is something wrong? My daddy’s okay, isn’t he?”

  Dane glanced at Virgil and Summer with an ill-concealed roll of his eyes.

  Colt answered Rory easily. Everyone else seemed stunned by the boy’s perceptiveness. “The sheriff’s only come to fill out a report on Jim Dandy’s disappearance. You’re up mighty early, aren’t you?”

  “Audrey made cinnamon rolls. They smelled so good, I woke up. She sent me out to tell everybody to come get ’em while they’re hot.”

  Summer shifted hands on the buckets. “Rory, take Sheriff Morse to the kitchen, please. I’ll strain the milk and put it in the cooler before I fix coffee and cinnamon rolls for the rest of us. We have a lot of wheat to cut, and the day’s not getting any younger.”

  “Give me those buckets.” Colt’s hands brushed hers in the exchange, giving Summer pause.

  “Uh, thanks, Colt, but I can manage. I’ve been hauling milk from the barn for our hand-fed calves since I was knee-high to a turnip.” She frowned as he pretended not to hear her protest. For a second they seemed about to engage in a tug-of-war. Summer finally let go, and stopped to pet the line of barn cats that always trailed the foaming milk buckets. “Okay, Coltrane, but I still have to get to the house.”

  Morse stayed her. “Before you rush off, Summer, let me get this straight. You’re canceling the mischief complaint entirely?” He hiked an eyebrow. “You’re satisfied these two weren’t involved in any way?”

  “Absolutely! Coltrane and Tracey were driving here from the Boise airport when those two men rode in, tore up my corral and stole Jim Dandy.”

  “You two been working in Idaho?” Dane seemed unwilling to let the matter drop.

  Colt tightened his hold on the bucket handles. “I’m a resident of Boise,” he volunteered, although he’d rather the sheriff didn’t check into his background and find out he worked for SOS. Colt preferred to keep that fact to himself for the time being. “Tracey was job-hunting in Utah. Mrs. Marsh asked me to get him if I could.”

  “You two fellows long-standing friends, then?”

  “Long enough,” Colt shot back. “Why the third degree, Sheriff? We’ve done nothing to warrant suspicion, have we?”

  Tracey hooked his thumbs over his belt. “Actually, Colt knows my uncle. That’s how we met. My previous employer was J. T. Gray in Wyoming. I cut wheat at his ranch last summer. He invited me back, but he’s aware I’d rather work with cattle. I’ll go get his phone number from my bag if you’d like to call him for a reference.”

  “Nonsense,” Summer cut in. “Dane, don’t be intimidating my employees. I’m darn lucky to get experienced men. I’m sure you heard all my wranglers quit.”

  “I did. But I didn’t realize you’d replaced them with…with…drifters.”

  Summer leveled a frown at the sheriff.

  “Don’t give me that look, Summer. Me’n your daddy went back a long way. He’d expect me to watch out for you.”

  Virgil made a rude noise in his throat. “Too bad you weren’t this worried when Bart was dying and someone whose initials are F.M. wriggled his way onto the ranch.”

  “Virgil, enough,” Summer cautioned, jerking her head in her son’s direction again. “May I remind you all that my wheat’s not going to harvest itself.”

  Tracey eased his aggressive stance. “I’ll give Colt a hand with the strainers. Then, if the key’s in the combine, he and I’ll start to cut. I didn’t think to ask yesterday, Mrs. Marsh, but should we bale hay as we go?”

  “It’s Summer,” she said with a grateful smile. “Remember, I told you we’re laid-back on the Forked Lightning. To answer your question, Tracey, we’ve usually baled and burned after all the fields are cut. We truck a load at a time to the granary up the highway. This year, I’m tempted to bale and burn stubble as we finish each field.”

  “Works for me.” Tracey tipped his hat to the sheriff and helped himself to one of the milk buckets Colt still held.

  The others watched the two men and the line of cats angle toward the back of the house. Neither man stayed inside long. Reappearing, they made straight for Colt’s pickup and soon rumbled across the barnyard, headed for the wheat field.

  “THANKS FOR DEFLECTING THAT sheriff’s long-winded interrogation, Tracey.”

  “S’okay, Coltrane! I’m used to being hassled by the law. Tickled me to see him go after you first. I think I’m gonna like this place where all strangers are considered suspicious, not just men of color.”

  “Gee, and I was thinking it’s too bad folks in this world have screwed up so royally, no one trusts anyone else.”

  “You do have a point. Shall we flip to see who drives the combine first and who drives the truck catching the grain?”

  “No contest, Trace. You’re the one with experience. Summer fibbed to the sheriff, saying we were both trained at this,” he said wryly. “I’ll watch you drive that monster combine and hope I get the hang of it enough to spell you later.”

  Tracey had several swaths cut by the time Summer showed up and flagged them to stop for rolls and coffee.

  “I want to apologize for Dane. He had no business questioning you two.”

  Colt shrugged. “You should let him beat the bushes for your rustlers. Or would you rather not know if your ex is involved?”

  “I wasn’t trying to protect Frank.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Rory. Even if Frank dreamed up the idea of stealing Jim Dandy because he hopes it’ll induce me to sell faster, what’s the point of worrying our son? If I can secure a loan to buy out Frank’s interest within the six-month grace period, Rory’s life won’t have to change. So why go out of my way to destroy his feelings for his dad?”

  Colt felt guilty about the part he’d played in bolstering Summer’s hope for a loan. If she really stopped to think, she’d realize no bank would lend her half the inflated worth of this undeveloped land. The general volatility of profit and loss in ranching—weather and fluctuating beef prices being the two biggest variables—often made ranch loans an un
feasible proposition from a bank’s point of view.

  Again Trace seemed to read Colt’s mind. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this break, if we don’t shake a leg we’ll never bring Summer’s wheat in and get roundup done in time to show those loan officers a profit statement.”

  Summer capped the thermos. “Right. Virgil’s hooking the tractor to the plow at the field we burned last week. He’ll reseed while we handle the roundup.”

  Colt nodded. “Just one thing before you go. What’s the process for unloading at the granary?”

  “I telephoned Junior Bartlett, the co-op’s scale manager. He’ll walk you through the procedure on your first load. Whichever of you makes a run should check that Junior’s tally matches what’s logged into my account book. I don’t think they’ll cheat you, but honest errors can occur. An ounce under here and there adds up to a fair amount of money over the course of several loads.”

  “I understand,” Trace said. “I did the same for Mr. Gray. Colt and I probably ought to make the first trip together. That way we’ll both learn the setup. From then on, it won’t matter which of us drives to the silos.”

  “Good plan. Thanks for telling me in advance. Now I won’t worry that you’ve both run off if I don’t hear any engine noise over here.”

  Grinning, the men gave her back the cups and returned to cutting.

  Before she left, Summer stole a few minutes to watch Colt struggle to cut a row as straight as Tracey’s. Due to that minor delay, Virgil had plowed four field-length furrows by the time she waved him to the fence so that she could give him a break.

  “How’s the cutting gettin’ on over there?” Virgil raised his voice above the rattle of the idling tractor. “Shall I help them? Or do you want me to connect the disk to the small John Deere and start breaking up clods behind you?”

  “Coltrane and Tracey are doing okay,” she told Virgil as he vacated his seat on the larger tractor. “They’re both taking the first load to the granary to learn the ropes. After that, I expect they’ll fall into a pattern. Hopefully, we’ll be able to begin roundup next week as scheduled.”

 

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