Rich, Rugged...Ruthless

by Jennifer Mikels

  “Why? Are you going to take notes?”

  The sarcasm was unexpected. “Notes? Why would I?”

  “Isn’t your job to report back to someone?”

  What he was talking about struck her. “I don’t play spy well.” Stiffening her back, she set down the spatula and faced him. “I have one job. To care for you. And if I answer to anyone, it’s you. Although, out of courtesy since Rachel did hire me, if she asks me a question, I’ll answer her honestly.”

  “You’re something when you get going, aren’t you?”

  Sam ignored his comment. “Your breakfast is almost ready.” While she would be responsible for reporting his physical progress, what memories came back to him really were his business. She did a quick count to three. Staying angry at anyone had never been her way. No longer miffed, she pivoted and held a spoonful of the fruity sauce out to him. “Taste. Tell me if I need to add more sugar to the raspberries.” As she brought the spoon close to his lips, his eyes were on her, studying her. To her credit, she held the spoon steady for him. “Well?”

  “Not bad.”

  “In other words, it’s good.” Funny that no one had told her he was a tease. Or was it a rarely seen trait? She returned to the counter and finished stirring the raspberries. “I’ll keep you in mind for more of these kinds of jobs.” She flipped the omelet just as the toast popped. Quickly she buttered it, then slid the omelet onto a plate. For herself, she’d made toast only. “So what happened to Helga?” Carrying the plates, she led the way to the patio.

  “She quit. She went back to Sweden.”

  Sam set his plate in front of him, then took a nearby chair. “Did you send her running from the house in tears?”

  “I doubt that.” He took a hearty bite of the omelet.

  “Is it okay?”

  “Hmm,” he said stingily.

  Actions spoke louder than words. He was eating the omelet with gusto.

  “From what I remember about Helga, she’d lay me flat with a frying pan before she’d burst into tears.”

  Sam watched the breeze ruffle his dark hair. “My kind of lady.”

  Max would have guessed that. During the short time he’d spent with her, he’d gotten a definite impression that she stood tough when necessary.

  “I need to go to the grocery store after breakfast. Want to go with me?”

  “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do. But I’ll give you money for the groceries.” He gestured with his fork toward his plate. “This is good. Thanks.”

  Questioningly, Sam tipped her head. “Are you all right?”

  “What?”

  “Did you hit your head again?”

  His eyes grew puzzled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I thought you fell out of bed this morning.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “But never mind. I was wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?”

  “For a moment there, you were nice.”

  “Funny.” Head bent, he heard her laugh, a throaty, soft sound.

  Long after breakfast was over and Max was alone, that sound lingered in his mind. While she went to the grocery store, he rambled from room to room, trying not to think about her. He looked for a distraction, but he had no idea what to do with his free time and wished now that he’d gone with her. A trip to the grocery store had to be better than being alone.

  He started reading a book about Custer’s final confrontation at Little Bighorn. With boredom setting in, he was glad to hear Ellis’s booming voice.

  “Where are you, Max?” he yelled from the foyer. Lumbering into the living room where Max had finally relaxed with the book half an hour ago, Ellis went straight to the coffee tray Sam had left. “It’s good to see you’re up and around. Thought you might need some company.” He swiveled a look over his shoulder. “Where’s the nurse?”

  “Grocery store.”

  “She doesn’t know her place,” he commented as if Max had asked his opinion about her.

  Max averted his eyes and veiled a grin at the hint of admiration in Ellis’s voice.

  Ellis breezed on in a manner that meant he’d had his say; subject closed. “Did you remember more?”

  No beating around the bush. Max realized he was still having trouble calling him dad. Did he call him that? Or father? Or was he Ellis to him? “Some oddball things.”

  Eyes like his own zeroed in on him. “Being here must help,” his father said.

  Actually Max had been more confused since coming home. He’d browsed through rooms, hoping some moment from the past of his being there would flash back at him. None did. He’d walked outside and stared at the tennis court. He wasn’t even sure he played the game.

  “You should go to the bank,” Ellis advised. “You might remember something there.”

  “Bank business has been your world,” Ellis had said to him when he’d been in the hospital. Max had wondered if anything else had mattered to him. Now he asked, “What did I do before taking the position as bank president?”

  “I told you.” Ellis lifted the carafe of coffee on the tray. “You traveled the country, overseeing my investments.”

  “Until when?” Max asked, watching his father pour himself coffee.

  “About four years ago.” Ellis stopped stirring the sugar in his coffee. “I decided to run for mayor, so you settled back in Whitehorn and became the bank’s president.”

  “Did I want to?”

  “Want to?” Ellis scowled at Max as if he’d grown two heads. “Well, you needed to come here.”

  Because he’d wanted him to? Max wondered. “Where do you live?”

  “At the house in town.” His father’s bushy brows veed as he raked a hand through his dark hair. “You grew up there.”

  Possibly if he saw it, he would remember. Max perched on the edge of a windowsill. “Do I ride?”

  Ellis had caught his reflection in a window. “Ride what?” he asked, distracted, preening.

  Max waited until his father tired of staring at his image. “A horse.” Montana was horse country, wasn’t it?

  “Why, sure you can.” Seeming unaware of his primping, he faced Max with renewed interest while he drank his coffee. “You don’t have any of your own. You always said you were too busy.”

  “Working?”

  “That’s right.” Ellis squinted at his wristwatch. “I’m supposed to see Kate after I leave here. She’s still giving me trouble.”

  Max had no idea who he was talking about. “Kate?”

  “Kate Randall Walker.” Something akin to exasperation settled on his face. Max figured it was a pain to have to explain everything to someone.

  “She’s been a mighty fine judge. I’d consider a ticket with Montgomery and Walker a shoe-in. She’d be a terrific attorney general. But she keeps refusing.”

  “Why won’t she run?”

  “She says she’s not the type. That’s ludicrous. She has an impeccable reputation.” With barely a breath taken, he shifted conversation again. “I told you what Garrett’s doing, didn’t I? He’s going to have nothing but trouble if you ask me.”

  Max didn’t bother to tell him that he didn’t know anyone named Garrett.

  “But he looks for it. Who else would go hunting for six grandsons, maybe seven? Illegitimate ones,” Ellis was quick to add. “Only Garrett Kincaid. All of his grandsons were fathered by his late son Larry, who was a regular skirt-chaser. Anyway, Garrett is gung ho about buying the Kincaid ranch for them. But Jordan Baxter will fight him until hell freezes over.”

  Max’s head spun. He didn’t know the people that Ellis was talking about. “Why would this Baxter guy block the sale of the ranch?”

  Ellis looked strangely at him for a second, only a second. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that you haven’t sorted all of this out yet. Well, see, Jordan Baxter insists that the land is his. He produced a letter from his uncle Cameron that offered Jordan the right of first refusal to any sale. So Garrett can’t do what he wants.”
>
  Finished with his coffee, he set down the cup. “Which is to divide the ranch as an inheritance for all those grandsons,” he finished.

  Max really didn’t care. He managed to nod at the right moments as Ellis passed more inconsequential conversation with him, but he was growing tired of the constant stream of names and was ready for Ellis to leave.

  “Guess I’ll be going,” he finally said, and checked his wristwatch once more. Max deduced that he’d scheduled so much time for his stay. Ellis stood, then started for the door but halted at the doorway. “Think about what I said. Go to the bank.”

  In the kitchen, Sam finished fluting a pie. When she’d returned from the grocery store, she’d seen Ellis Montgomery’s car in the driveway. Now she heard his loud goodbye and craned her neck to look out the kitchen window to see if he’d left.

  “There you are.”

  In response to the voice behind her, Sam jumped and whipped around.

  “Been looking for you, missy. What’s going on? What are you doing?”

  Sam was baffled. What was Ellis accusing her of? He couldn’t possibly know that she was mentally lusting for his son.

  “I’m not pleased, missy.”

  Sam wiped her floured hands on a towel. “Excuse me?”

  “He’s not any better.”

  Sometimes the patient’s family had the most difficult time accepting the circumstances of a loved one’s illness. “He just got home, Mr. Montgomery. It takes time.”

  “How much time?” Ellis bellowed. “When is he going to get his head on straight?”

  In the foyer, Max heard Ellis’s shout. Was he worried about him because he was his son? Or was this about having a son not quite all right in the head? That could cause him some awkward moments while on the campaign trail.

  Max waited until he heard Ellis slam the door on his way out, then entered the kitchen. Standing at the table, Sam was whipping something white and frothy. “What are you doing?”

  Startled again, she whirled around. “You’re quiet,” she said with a hand pressed to her chest.

  “Sorry.” Frightening her hadn’t been his goal. “Sorry about him, too. You didn’t deserve his tirade.”

  “He’s an upset father.”

  That she made an excuse for Ellis didn’t surprise him. He sensed she had a gentle soul, a kind heart. “Ellis—my father.” He paused again. “I have a hard time with that. I don’t know him.”

  “Only do what you’re comfortable with,” she suggested as she spread the meringue on top of the lemon pie.

  “We played catch-up about what I used to do.” Max stood near the kitchen door and watched a jackrabbit scurry from one sagebrush to another. “It sounds familiar. Does that make sense? I can’t remember my own father or my sister, yet I can remember bank business?”

  “It’s easier for you to remember.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Sam guessed where his indignation was coming from. He thought she was accusing him of not trying to remember more. She didn’t bother to soothe him. He needed to face a few facts. “You don’t want to remember more personal memories,” she said bluntly. “At least, not yet.”

  “Is that what you’ve been told by a shrink?”

  “What I was told came from the neurologist. Both doctors said that everyone should let you find your own way back.”

  What if he never did? Doubts never were far away, he realized.

  “When Ellis talked to you about your work, did he mention Edna?”

  “My assistant?” She’d come to visit him at the hospital. A pleasant woman in her late fifties, she seemed truly concerned for him. “I thought I’d call her tomorrow morning. I’ll get back to work, even if it’s at home.”

  She nodded as if that was a good idea. “You’d have time to call before we eat.”

  “Then, I will.” Max stepped near and peered over her shoulder. “Lemon meringue pie. Do I like that?”

  A smile lit her face. “It’s on the list Rachel gave me. It’s one of your favorites.”

  He’d like to see that list. It would make his life easier if he could simply read what he’d liked.

  Four

  Max had time for the phone call and a walk before dinner. More hungry than he realized, he took only a short trek around the estate.

  On his way to the kitchen, he noticed she’d rented videos, a romantic comedy and an action-adventure movie. He thought he’d prefer the one that promised “death-defying stunts.”

  “Everything’s ready,” Sam announced when he joined her.

  Dinner was as delicious as was everything she cooked. “What is this?” Max asked before popping another piece of meat into his mouth.

  “It’s pepper steak. It wasn’t on the list, but I remember how wonderful this recipe was when I had dinner at Jessica and Sterling McCallum’s.”

  Should he know them? Was he friends with them? “Friends who live in Whitehorn?” he asked.

  “Yes. Almost from day one. Well, you know how Jessica is.”

  Actually he didn’t.

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. For the first time since they’d met, she looked distressed. “I’m sorry. This must be difficult for you. And saying that to you was really insensitive.”

  Max wanted to ease her discomfort. “I don’t know them, do I?”

  “I couldn’t say. I don’t think so.” She took empty salad plates to the sink. “But Jessica is naturally friendly and caring, so she makes friends easily. She’s head of the social welfare department. Her husband is a special investigator in the sheriff’s department,” she rambled before returning to the table. “She’s so good-hearted. Everyone likes her.”

  He merely nodded, more interested in the sight of the sunlight shimmering on her hair. “If she’s such a great friend, she’d have talked you out of this job.” He dug into his dinner again to stop his preoccupation with her, with the way she looked, with the way she made him feel. “Carter, why don’t you leave?”

  “Because you need me,” she answered with a laugh.

  Damn it, he really liked that sound. Dumb thinking, he supposed. But besides her being a knockout, whenever she came near, he caught a whiff of her scent, a fragile scent, one he couldn’t forget even after she’d moved away. Disgusted with himself, he finished the meal in silence. He had no business thinking about her, about any woman, right now. With the last bite in his mouth, he pushed back his chair.

  “I got videos for tonight, if you’re interested.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Bewilderment swept through Sam as she stared after him. Why the abrupt departure? Conversation had been civil, then he’d become quiet again.

  Grabbing the plates, she moved to the sink to wash dishes. Perhaps it was best to leave him alone for a while. Later she would offer him the pie and coffee.

  Sam watched the videos alone. Max had closeted himself in his room, and she spent a quiet evening by herself. With no company or conversation for hours, she welcomed the noise of others the next morning.

  Before she eased out of the bed, her surroundings came alive with activity, the droning of an engine awakening her. At the bedroom window, she looked down to see the gardener running the riding lawn mower in precise straight lines over the stretch of rolling green at the back of the house.

  Curious to meet him, Sam dressed then hurried down the steps.

  She was on her way to the back door when the phone rang. Now that she was working at Max Montgomery’s everyone she knew had questions. Yesterday Lily Mae Wheeler, the town busybody, had called to ask if the house was as beautiful as she’d heard.

  This phone call was from Jessica. “I was checking to see if you’re doing all right.”

  “I’m fine. He’s fine. He had company. His father came by yesterday.”

  “That’s a surprise.”

  Sam had heard talk about the Montgomerys. According to gossip, the politically ambitious Ellis had never paid Max or his sisters much mind. “Was th
ere really no closeness between Ellis and his children?”

  “Not really.”

  “What about his wife?” More than curiosity made Sam ask the question. She wondered if a lack of affection had made Max so distant. After all, Rachel came from the same family and she seemed warm and friendly. And Christina had been known for seeking attention anywhere she could find it. “Were they more of a family when Ellis’s wife was alive?”

  “Not really. Deidre Holworth wasn’t Ms. Warmth. She was a refined woman from a socially prominent Montana family. She cared about appearances, about pedigrees.”

  “But weren’t their lives different with her around?”

  “They were never a loving family,” Jessica assured her. “Before Max’s accident, I think the last time the Montgomerys were together was for a family photo needed for Ellis’s campaign. And Rachel didn’t live here then. So they rarely spent time together.”

  Despite what Sam had lacked while growing up, she’d always known her mother loved her.

  “I’ll have to cut this short, Sam,” Jessica said. “Sterling and Jenny want to go for a walk,” she said about her husband and daughter. “But before I go, Sam, please remember that—well, you don’t have to finish this.”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “If he’s too impossible—”

  Sam laughed. “Honestly, Jess, he’s not so bad. I think his reputation as an ogre is exaggerated.”

  “Maybe that’s true. And in fairness to him, a rich man doesn’t understand problems of ordinary people. But he has a reputation as unfeeling and detached. I’ve heard stories repeatedly that he won’t give extensions on loan notes, wouldn’t authorize loans unless a person had collateral. That’s his reputation.”

  “That’s good business sense,” Sam said in his defense.

  “This is a small town. He’s known a lot of these people all his life. He knows their character. That should count for something. He knows who’s honest and hardworking. But he’s Mr. Heart of Steel.”

  That might have been the man he’d been, but she was seeing a different man. A touch ornery, but certainly not ruthless.

  Jessica continued, “And last month he fired the Crommer girl.”