“How did you come by your interest in these things?” she asked, thumbing through the volumes she’d chosen.
He turned away, suddenly busy. “Grew up here,” he said.
“You grew up at Rancho Encantado?”
“No. Nearby. My father worked in mines here and there.”
She was accustomed to interviewing subjects for articles, and the signs were unmistakable: this was a topic that Cord didn’t want her to pursue. But that had never stopped her before, and it didn’t stop her now.
“So your interest is personal?”
“Maybe.” He rose from his position in front of the bookcase. “You know, I really need to get some shut-eye. Big day tomorrow.”
She turned to go, walked through the kitchen. He followed along.
“Thanks, Cord. You’ve given me a lot to go on.”
“Don’t mention it.” He held the door open for her.
“See you tomorrow,” she said. She closed the door, but after a moment’s thought, she didn’t bolt it.
“YOU SAID YOU GOT these books from Cord McCall?” asked Bridget, the twitchy little clerk in the office.
Brooke waited while the photocopy machine spit out another copy. “Some of them. Justine gave me the rest.”
Bridget was studying the dust jacket of a book that Brooke had set on her desk. “Looks halfway interesting, I’d say. I can’t imagine Cord McCall reading any of these,” and she gestured at the other books spread out on the table beside the copier.
“Why is that?”
Bridget shrugged. “He doesn’t seem the type to sit home at night and read books.”
“He has an extensive collection,” Brooke replied, checking the copier to see if it needed paper.
“You’ve been in his apartment?” This question was delivered with an expression of pure incredulity.
“Just for a few minutes last night.”
“Oh, my, I do believe you’re the only person who has ever been invited inside.”
This caught Brooke’s attention. “What’s wrong—is Cord particularly antisocial?”
Bridget snickered. “He shows up at the ranch square dances on Friday nights by order of Justine, but he never stays long. He usually cuts out and, well, I’m not going to tell you where we think he goes.” She shuffled a stack of papers and dropped them into a file folder, looking busier than she actually was.
“You mean Miss Kitti-Kat’s?” Brooke asked ingenuously.
She was rewarded when Bridget’s jaw dropped. “It didn’t take long for you to find that out,” she said.
“Mmm,” Brooke replied.
“The question is, is it really true that he goes there? That’s what nobody knows.”
Brooke picked up the book she’d been copying and slammed it shut. “I’d say that’s Cord’s business, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, of course,” Bridget replied hastily. Before long, she disappeared into the back room and sat down at her computer, the urge to gossip apparently stilled.
Brooke smiled to herself as she left. Somehow, she had become Cord’s champion, his advocate, which she thought entirely unnecessary. Cord McCall looked able to take care of himself. Yet there was no way he could protect himself from gossip, she supposed, though he seemed unconcerned about what anyone might think of him.
In that way, she supposed, they were much alike. She didn’t care what anyone thought about her bearing this baby and keeping it. The difference was that no one was talking about her, because, aside from Leo, no one knew about the baby except Cord.
That would soon have to change, but not yet.
CORD SPENT another restless night. In the morning he was reminded of why he’d slept so poorly when he woke up and saw the empty spaces in his bookshelf. He prized all his books, every one. He hadn’t been able to enjoy the luxury of books when he’d been rodeoing, or at least books that he could keep. Yet most likely, it wasn’t the absence of his books that bothered him. It was the presence of Brooke last night in his small apartment.
He spent most of the morning going over ranch accounts with Justine, who had in the past proved that she could be his biggest fan or greatest detractor. They had just finished their work and he was gathering up his paperwork to leave, when Justine casually mentioned that she had invited a freelance writer to stay at the ranch while working on an article about the place.
“That would be Brooke, right?”
Justine’s head snapped around. “I thought I saw you two talking at Hank’s wedding,” she said with a knowing look. What it meant exactly, Cord wasn’t sure.
“Right,” he answered. He opted for a quick change of subject. “Do you want me to phone those figures to you here at the Big House or e-mail them before I go on vacation?”
“e-mail is fine, but could you consider postponing your vacation?”
He was blindsided by the request. “Postpone my vacation? I scheduled it a month ago!”
“Has it ever occurred to you, Cord, that you’ve taken quite enough time off as it is? That you probably owe me time, not vice versa?” Justine eyed him sternly.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“Look, Cord, I’ve been ignoring your frequent disappearances because you’re the best ranch manager I’ve ever had. It so happens that the situation has changed since you told me you wanted a week off. I’ve got two guys sick today—no telling when they’ll be back to work. Another quit this morning, that fellow from Arizona, and there’s the new hire, Pearsall, to train. I’ve got to worry about cows giving birth and getting cattle to auction and—well, you know the drill.”
“I know it all right,” Cord said stiffly.
“And now here’s this writer, this Brooke Hollister. She has the potential to give us some great publicity. I’m worried about the health spa and dude ranch end of the business, Cord. Client reservations are down for this summer, probably because of the economic situation.”
Cord wasn’t sure what he was supposed to reply to this. His responsibility was the working ranch, not the dude ranch-health spa operation that Justine prized so highly. After a moment’s consideration, he settled on a mildly interested, “Is that so?”
“Fling is the most popular magazine for young women on the West Coast, and it would be great if we could increase our clientele in that age group. Plus, Brooke might be able to place other articles about Rancho Encantado in more far-reaching publications.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with me.”
Justine narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve become friendly with her. You’re bound to see each other going in and out of your apartments. I think you’re just the one to take her under his wing at Rancho Encantado.”
Cord knew that his employer’s impatience was exhausted. He hadn’t been a model employee since he’d bought Jornada Ranch and commenced with the repairs to it. Sometimes things went wrong there and he had to put them to rights; sometimes he bugged out of Rancho Encantado, thinking no one would miss him, that no one would be the wiser. Well, apparently that hadn’t always been true.
Justine went on talking. “Cord, weren’t you born around here?”
“Well, yes.”
“And raised here?”
“Sure,” he said reluctantly.
“I want you to make Brooke Hollister a priority. Take her where she wants to go, be available whenever. You’ll get a bonus from me for any extra time you put in, and as for your usual recreational pursuits, putting them aside for a couple of weeks if I make it worth your while wouldn’t hurt you.”
He was only a month or so away from quitting this job altogether. Telling Justine what she could do with the job and how he felt about being ordered around was on the tip of his tongue. But he respected the woman; he couldn’t help it. And if he quit now, he would have less money available to spend on the kids who needed it.
“Think you can handle it, McCall?”
The way Justine spit out those words sparked a willingness to show her he could handle anything she tossed
his way. “I think so,” he said, biting his own words off sharply.
Justine afforded him an abrupt nod. “Great. I don’t think looking after Brooke will qualify as hard duty, by the way. She’s quite attractive.”
He managed a grunt, and then someone came to the door and he made his escape. All the way back to his apartment, he seethed. Like he needed something else to do right now. Like he wanted to give up his “usual recreational pursuits,” which almost made him laugh. Apparently, Justine had bought into the prevailing rumor that he hung out at Miss Kitti-Kat’s.
Cord’s phone was ringing off the hook when he stopped by his apartment to drop off the paperwork. He only hoped it wasn’t Ted Petty again. He was still frustrated that he hadn’t been able to help the boy Ted had told him about.
It wasn’t Ted. It was Mattie, his right hand at Jornada Ranch. “Cord, Cord, there’s a mistake. I thought I’d better call right away.”
He was accustomed to Mattie’s dire outlook. “Now, Mattie, calm down. What’s the problem?” He leaned back against the wall, prepared for a long, involved story. Mattie couldn’t help it; she didn’t know how to abbreviate.
“The shingles for the bunkhouse roof arrived and they’re the wrong color! They don’t match the sample you showed me. The man who drove the truck is related to my cousin who lives near Beatty. He said he was told to bring the shingles. The roofers will be here any minute. I sure can’t let them put these shingles on the roof if they’re the wrong color!”
Mattie, bless her heart, was a conscientious worker, and that was why he employed her. If it wasn’t for this job, she’d be hard-pressed to survive, since she was also supporting her lone grandchild, a five-year-old boy.
“Hold on, Mattie, dear. What color are the shingles that were delivered?”
“Brown. You wanted gray. The color of the shingles is to blend in with the desert, you said. You said—”
“Never mind what I said. I meant to tell you that I changed the order to brown. You can let the roofers have their way with the roof. Don’t let them have their way with you, though, Mattie. I’m counting on you to remain faithful to me.”
“Oh, you, Cord. You big tease. I’m beyond all that silly business.”
She was a good soul, and she liked his teasing, despite her protestations to the contrary. “You’re my favorite girlfriend, and don’t you forget it.” Mattie was seventy if she was a day, and she was crippled with arthritis. The illness had made it impossible for her to continue her work as a seamstress at Rancho Encantado, where she’d been employed for many years.
“How could I forget I’m your girlfriend? You never let me.” A clamor arose in the background, and Cord grinned into the phone.
“Is that Jonathan? Let me speak to him.”
A rustle, a laugh, and then Jonathan came on the line. “Cord, Cord! When are you coming to see me?”
“Soon, Jonathan. Are you behaving yourself?”
“Oh, yes. I helped Granny make the beds today. I’m learning to clean the windows. Granny sprays the blue stuff on, and I wipe. I’m good at wiping, Granny says so.”
“That’s great, Jonny. Let me talk to your granny again,” he said.
Mattie came back on. “Cord, you take it easy. You are too busy, much too busy.” She’d adopted a scolding tone.
“You shouldn’t give me such a rough time,” he said.
“Thank goodness you will be here all next week on vacation.”
“Uh, Mattie. The plan has changed. I can’t take my vacation now. It has to wait.”
“Wait? But you promised you’d be here next week!”
“Justine has other plans for me.”
“You work too hard, Cord. If you weren’t working so hard, you wouldn’t have forgotten to tell me about the change in the color of the shingles.”
“You’ll agree there’s no harm done, right? I’ll take my vacation soon. You know I want to finish up at Jornada Ranch as soon as possible. Bear with me, Mattie. Don’t quit on me now.”
“I’m not only your best girlfriend, I am your biggest fan. You’re going to make a difference in the world, Cord, and I’m proud to help.”
“Thanks, Mattie. I’ll get over there and see to things as soon as I can manage a few hours away.”
“Jonathan and I miss you very much,” Mattie said.
When he hung up, Cord had to pull himself back to matters at hand. He had to remind himself of all the things he needed to do. e-mail those figures to Justine, find out if Hank had ordered enough feed for the stable horses before he left, find out why the refrigerator repairman still hadn’t shown up.
And figure out how he was going to usher Brooke around Rancho Encantado and environs without wanting to jump her bones.
Chapter Five
There is nothing special about Rancho Encantado.
Brooke stared at the letters on her laptop screen and chewed on her lower lip. This was supposed to be the lead for the Fling article, but the words weren’t coming easily today.
She got up, went to get a can of root beer, and leaned against the kitchen counter to drink it. She attributed her difficulty with the lead to the research she was pursuing for the book she wanted to write. She’d begun reading the old diary to see if it could possibly have been written by Annabel Privette, her great-great-great-grandmother, but she’d soon discovered that the author was someone named Jerusha Taggart.
She picked up the diary from the kitchen table and leafed through it, stopping to read a few of the entries, not in any particular order.
October 25, 1849
This was a grueling day requiring much walking. Nathan cried all morning and fell asleep in the wagon afterward. I checked him for fever and thankfully found none. I pray to God that we survive this cruel desert.
Brooke knew that she would have to start reading at the beginning of the journal to learn who Nathan was and even who Jerusha was, though from some of the subsequent entries, she gathered that Jerusha was Nathan’s mother. Carefully turning the pages so that they wouldn’t fall apart in her hands, she went to the beginning and started reading again.
July 15, 1849
I’m optimistic about California, where my husband says we’ll find our fortune. Dear Teensy can hardly contain her excitement now that we have almost reached Santa Fe. I am as excited as she but must remain calm for the sake of my family, which, God willing, will soon be larger. I’ve not mentioned my suspicion to my dear husband, as it would only worry him.
Who was Teensy? Dog? Child? It was hard to tell. As for the growth of Jerusha’s family, she must mean that she was pregnant and keeping the news from her husband.
The sight through the kitchen window of Cord McCall striding into the stable interrupted Brooke’s thoughts. His hat was pulled down over his forehead and he carried a sheaf of papers.
She couldn’t decipher the expression on his face, but she decided that there would be no better time to ask him if she could keep his books awhile longer.
She stepped outside the kitchen door. “Cord,” she called. “Do you need those books back right away?”
He looked at her as if he hadn’t expected to see her standing there, and she had the idea that his thoughts were miles away. “No, you can keep them for a while.”
“Thanks.” She paused. “By the way, I didn’t get to Padre Luís’s place today. I found something interesting, though.”
He looked her up and down with a hint of impatience. She suspected that he objected to her taking up his time with trivialities.
“Yeah?”
“The diary I found seems to be that of a young woman who was with the Tyson party.”
This made a heat flare in his eyes, or was it only her imagination?
“I’m going to read the rest of the journal, find out who she was.”
“Great.”
She turned to go back in her apartment. Suddenly, there was a shuffle and Cord cleared his throat. “Justine says I’m to take you anywhere you want to go. She says
I’m in charge of you.”
“In charge of me?” She pivoted and stared.
“That’s what she says.” Brooke could tell he wasn’t too happy about this state of affairs.
“Well,” she said slowly and consideringly. “I didn’t ask for that.”
He studied her face. “No, I don’t suppose you did.”
“I’ll try not to be too demanding.”
He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Where would you like to go? What would you like to do?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m just getting into this.”
“Maybe we could go into town and grab something to eat while we kick around the possibilities,” he said.
This was a surprise, considering that he hadn’t seemed to want to linger. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “Where would we go?”
“There’s only one place, the Lucky Buck Saloon. It’s run by a local guy who recently moved back from Texas, and until lately the only decent food was pizza. Joe’s recently added sandwiches to the menu, and they’re not bad.”
This sounded better than listening to gossip in the communal dining hall. “Come on in. It’ll take me only a few minutes to get ready.”
When she emerged, Cord looked her up and down. She’d put on her suede jacket, which was a shade of dusty coral, and she’d pinned her hair back from her face. His scrutiny made her feel self-conscious, though, and she busied herself checking her purse for lipstick, wallet and credit cards.
“My car or yours?”
“We’ll take my pickup,” he said as he followed her out.
She climbed into the truck and tried to untangle the seat belt, which was looped over itself in a way that made it impossible to fasten. She wasn’t able to straighten it out by the time they reached the entrance to the property, the pillars supporting the sign that said Rancho Encantado, Where Dreams Come True. Cord had been observing her without comment as she tried to figure out how to make the belt work, but all of a sudden he braked and pulled over to the side of the road.
“Here,” he said, “let me help you. Hasn’t been anybody riding on that side of this truck for a while.” He turned slightly to face her and set to work, his big hands working the belt this way and that.
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