by Stacy Finz
“You met Dude, huh?” He’d forgotten about that. “Look, I didn’t think you’d be here for another week. Trailering him back and forth . . . that’s a lot to ask of the poor guy. Besides, what do you need a barn for?”
“I need the barn for my own horse.”
He jerked his head, a little surprised. “You have a horse?”
She didn’t answer, just glared at him. Gia Treadwell was dead set on disliking him.
“There’re like fourteen stalls in that stable. You need them all?” Jeez, why was he arguing with her? It was her barn.
She stood there for a while, contemplating. “I suppose it’s fine.”
It was not the answer he was expecting. “I’ll pay for Dude’s board.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Before Flynn could insist, she abruptly turned and returned to her table, giving him an excellent view of her backside. He’d never seen her ass on TV. From this angle it looked pretty good.
Chapter 3
Gia thought Flynn Barlow was a real piece of work. Obviously, all he thought he had to do was buy a woman a drink and turn on the charm and she’d melt for him. That wasn’t going to work with her. She’d only agreed to let him keep his horse in her barn for the sake of the animal. Plus, Rory could use the company. Gia had been boarding the mare at a stable near Central Park with lots of other horses, so it might be lonely in the big barn, alone.
“What did he say?” Dana asked.
“That he didn’t think I’d need the barn. He’s about the most presumptuous person I’ve ever met.”
“Okay, but you’ve gotta admit he’s really nice-looking.”
Oh, Flynn was better than nice-looking, and she’d seen the full monty. “He’s all right. As long as we don’t have to interact, we’ll be fine.”
How often did a rancher have to look after his cows anyway? It wasn’t like he was milking them. Gia returned to their earlier conversation.
“I still think you and Aidan should get married at the ranch.”
Aidan was an arson investigator for Cal Fire. He and Dana had fallen in love last summer while Gia had been in Nugget shopping for property. In the midst of all Gia’s upheaval, she and Dana had forged a wonderful friendship.
Dana squeezed her arm. “You’re so sweet. But my parents are excited about having it at their home. I don’t want to disappoint them.”
“I can’t believe it’s only a couple of months away,” Gia said. “You ready?”
“You know me, the queen of organization. Still, I’ve never felt more disorganized in my life. Thankfully, Samantha Breyer is lending me a hand.” Samantha was Maddy’s brother’s wife and did the event planning for his hotels.
Gia was still learning who everyone was. In New York she recognized a few residents in her co-op by face, but that was it. Not like here, where you even knew the names of everyone’s dogs.
She watched Flynn across the dining room, flirting with a busty brunette at the bar. He was way too sure of himself as far as she was concerned. Evan had been cocky but much more reserved. Flynn acted like he owned the world. Case in point: her shower, her barn, and definitely that barstool. If aloof Evan could manage to bilk clients out of billions, she could only imagine what charming and overly confident Flynn was capable of.
No need to worry because she didn’t plan to get close enough to find out.
“Hey,” Dana said. “You seem distracted.”
Gia reined in her thoughts. “I’m just taking everything in.”
“Culture shock, I’m sure.” Dana laughed.
For a long time Gia had been running in the fast lane, hanging out with television executives, doing lunches at New York’s top restaurants, and rubbing elbows with elite financiers. Nugget . . . well, it was different. Ranchers and railroad workers made up the bulk of the town and the only sit-down restaurant was the Ponderosa, with its gold-rush saloon motif and an attached bowling alley. It was nothing like Bedford, the tony New York bedroom community she’d grown up in until her father had died.
“Yeah,” she told Dana. “But a good one. People here at least leave me alone.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, but that won’t last. Everyone is curious about what you plan to do with Rosser Ranch, and of course there’s your . . .”
“My involvement with the biggest con artist in modern history?”
Dana shrugged sheepishly. “People are curious.”
“You haven’t told anyone about my program?”
Gia had confided in Dana about her plan to turn Rosser Ranch into a residential program for down-on-their-luck women. It was something she’d been mapping out in her head for years, just waiting for the right opportunity. She wanted to name the program after her mother, who knew intimately the travails of being financially dependent on a man and then left with nothing.
“Of course not. I can keep a secret. Everyone’s so worried you’ll turn the place into a subdivision, they’re likely to be relieved.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” Gia nudged her head at Flynn, who’d moved on to chatting up the bartender. The brunette looked put out. “I also need to get rid of him.”
“A deal’s a deal, Gia. His cattle get to graze until the first frost. Then he’ll move them somewhere warmer.”
“What if he doesn’t?” If Gia wanted her plan to work, she needed to start exercising it now.
“Ray Rosser gave him a year’s lease. Nothing you can do except coexist.” Dana glanced over at Flynn and smiled. “There are worse things in life than having to coexist with Flynn Barlow.”
“Really? I can’t think of any.”
“Oh, come on. You two just got off on the wrong foot. People in town adore the guy. His family has lived in Quincy since dinosaurs roamed the land. I’ve never met them. but from what I hear they’re good people.”
Everyone had thought Evan was a Wall Street pillar. As it turned out, the only thing he was supporting was a hidden bank account with other peoples’ hard-earned money.
“We’ll see,” Gia said, wanting to change the subject.
A server came to the table and asked if they wanted dessert. Gia got the carrot cake. What the hell; it wasn’t like she had to watch her weight for the camera anymore.
Dana declined. “As it is, I’ll be lucky to fit into my wedding gown.”
“You’ll get into it.” Gia eyed her slim friend, who beamed. Dana was so giddy in love it was sickening. Except Aidan was one of the good ones.
Dessert came and Gia pushed an extra fork Dana’s way. “It wouldn’t kill you to take a taste.”
Within ten minutes they’d inhaled the entire slab of cake.
“I should probably get home,” Dana said.
“Yeah, me too.” Gia had gotten a tip on some value stocks and wanted to check them out before the market opened in the morning.
She and Dana paid the bill. On their way out, Flynn swiveled around on his stool.
“Catch you later,” he said.
Not if she could help it.
* * *
Rory came at the end of the week in a horse trailer fit for a Triple Crown winner. Gia spared no expense for her baby. She celebrated the reunion the next morning by taking the mare on their first Rosser Ranch trail ride. Both she and Rory were used to the designated equestrian trails in Central Park, not so much the open range. Fearful of getting lost, Gia stuck to the fence line. Though officially spring, it was chilly this morning, and in some spots layers of frost covered the trees and ground like white crystals.
Across the fence, Gia caught glimpses of life on McCreedy Ranch. She assumed the owner, Clay McCreedy, would be her biggest adversary regarding the residential program she wanted to start. According to Dana, he wasn’t someone to go up against. His family had been ranching here since the Gold Rush and they had a lot of influence in Nugget.
Besides, the land was zoned agricultural. A halfway house geared toward helping women become financially self-sufficient didn’t exactly scream far
ming. To make it work, she needed their blessing. But she had a strategy for getting around the zoning and just needed to work out the details.
“You’re up early.”
She swung around on Rory, startled. So lost in her thoughts, Gia hadn’t heard Flynn come up behind her. He was in full cowboy regalia: a Stetson swooped over one eye, a field coat, chaps, and boots. The only thing missing was a six-shooter, but he probably had that pistol of his tucked away somewhere. Dude gave Rory a once-over, then blew out a long-suffering snort. Apparently the gelding was as arrogant as his owner.
With the toe of his boot, Flynn nudged Dude closer and scratched Rory behind her ears. Rory let out a happy nicker. Traitor.
“Nice sorrel,” he said and eyed Gia’s English tack. “But you might want to trade that pancake saddle in for something a little more practical. They’ve got some real fine Western saddles over at Farm Supply.” And then he grinned as if he knew he was antagonizing her.
In response, she yawned in his face. “Herding the doggies?”
One brow went up. “The doggies? Do yourself a favor and don’t use that term. Seriously, people will laugh at you.”
“Good to know,” she said and started to rein her horse away.
“Leaving so soon?”
“Do you purposely do that?”
“What?” he asked.
“Try to provoke me.”
The jerk grinned again. He actually had the nerve to look her in the eye and flash those obnoxious white teeth of his. “It’s just so damn easy.”
She was on the verge of telling him what an ass he was when his phone blasted “Home on the Range.”
“Gotta take this,” he said and tugged the cell out of the pocket of his field coat.
Gia loitered for a few minutes, hoping to catch his end of the conversation. For the life of her, she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she was interested in anything about him. When she couldn’t glean the gist of his discussion, she moved on, urging Rory into a canter.
A good distance away from Flynn, she tightened the reins, wanting to take the ride at a slower pace. There was nothing like seeing her property from the back of a horse. The sun peeked through the clouds, promising another stellar Sierra Nevada day. Bright orange poppies covered the fields like blankets. From up on the ridge she could see the Feather River running high with melted snow from the mountains. Everything smelled crisp and clean and woodsy. She still had to pinch herself to prove it was hers. That she was here, away from the prying eyes of the feds and the ceaseless harassment of the press. And that she owned a slice of paradise.
After buying the Fifth Avenue penthouse, Gia had thought she’d arrived. “Movin’ On Up,” just like the theme song to that old sitcom, The Jeffersons. The apartment was a symbol of her unimaginable success. But it had never really been her. The yards of travertine tile, the crystal chandeliers, and the Bauhaus art, so cold and sterile. Conspicuous consumption to the point of being vulgar.
Not that Rosser Ranch was modest by any stretch of the imagination. It boasted a thousand acres of prime riverfront land, a custom log house the size of Rhode Island, and amenities too numerous to count. But it didn’t feel ostentatious. It felt real and warm and welcoming. It felt like the perfect safe haven for downtrodden women trying to get back on their feet again.
By the time she made it to the stable, Flynn was there, brushing Dude. Great! The cowboy was like a bad penny. He’d taken off his jacket and had hung it from a hook while he groomed the horse. Gia couldn’t help but watch his sinewy arms move back and forth over Dude’s coat, his biceps straining inside the sleeves of his chambray shirt.
As she began to dismount, he magically appeared to help her down.
“I don’t need assistance.” She clenched her teeth.
“I didn’t say you did. But I’m a gentleman.”
She highly doubted that, but it seemed petty to protest. He gripped her around the waist and lowered her down as if she weighed nothing. And when he let go she felt a tiny jolt of disappointment.
Flustered, she immediately set to work removing Rory’s saddle and going through the routine of grooming her own horse. Flynn silently led Dude into a stall and walked to the back of the barn to a towering stack of alfalfa hay that hadn’t been there before. With a hay hook, he twisted the wire on one of the bales until it snapped, removed a flake, and put it in Dude’s feeder. He went back for a second flake and dropped that one into Rory’s rack.
“I have my own hay,” she said.
“Consider it my contribution for keeping my horse here.”
Since alfalfa ran close to three hundred dollars a ton, she didn’t argue. “Thank you.”
He nodded, leaned against the wall, and watched her finish with Rory. “Where’d you keep her when you lived in New York?”
So he’d figured out who she was. Gia knew it had only been a matter of time. “A stable near Central Park.”
His eyes lapped the barn. “I can’t imagine anything better than this.”
“It’s pretty great,” she admitted.
“A lot of folks had their eye on this ranch when Ray put it on the market. No one could afford the price tag.” His words weren’t quite accusatory, but there was innuendo there. She should’ve been offended, but she was used to it. The FBI and the Securities and Exchange Commission had interrogated her ceaselessly about the ranch.
“Yes, well, I used to make a lot of money,” she blurted out and then could’ve strangled herself for sounding defensive. For responding at all. Gia didn’t have to justify herself; she’d purchased the place with her hard-earned investments, the proceeds from her penthouse, and savings. Every last dime of it.
“Not anymore, I guess.” He paused to study her reaction. “The property taxes alone will cost you a fortune.”
She squinted at him. “I’ve got it covered, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Nope, it sure isn’t. But if you ever want to sell . . .”
“To you?” She laughed. “A wrangler’s salary must be good.”
He pushed himself off the wall. “It’s honest work.” This time there was no innuendo, just flat-out condemnation.
“You don’t know anything about me, so keep your judgment to yourself.” Gia led Rory into her stall and put down fresh straw. She wasn’t going to let him provoke her. The day had started out too nice and she had bigger fish to fry, like making a living.
“You’re right, I don’t,” he said. “Innocent until proven guilty. Look, in the next couple of months I’ll be around here a lot. The cows are calving, I’ll be branding, castrating, and auditing. I’m hoping we can forge some kind of truce here.”
“Really? Because accusing me of being a thief seems like a funny kind of ceasefire, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything. And you’re the one who held a rifle on me. But, hey, I’m willing to forgive and forget.” He started to say more but heard a motor and the crunch of gravel.
They moved to the door and saw a dark sedan coming up the road. Flynn studied the car for a few seconds and Gia saw his gaze move to the logo on the license plate. She couldn’t make it out from this distance.
“You expecting company?” he asked.
“No.” She craned her neck to get a better look inside the car. The windows were tinted and most locals drove trucks.
“Wait here out of sight,” he said as the car came to a halt and two men in suits got out.
Ordinarily she would’ve told him to pound sand, but something about the authoritative way he’d told her to wait made her heed his directions. She slid behind the barn door, watching and listening from a small concealed window that was open. Flynn met the men as they approached the stable.
“Flynn!” one of them said, sounding surprised.
“Hey, Jeff.” Flynn bobbed his head in greeting to the guy who hadn’t said anything. “What brings you fellows all the way up here?”
“I’m gonna ask you the same thing,” Jeff s
aid.
“I lease this land to run my cattle. Now your turn.”
“We understand a Gia Treadwell owns the property and lives here.”
“That would be correct. What can she do for you?”
“You her lawyer, Flynn?”
Gia thought Jeff was being facetious. By now she’d figured out that her visitors were feds, either FBI or SEC. New York . . . California. . . they all looked the same. American cars, cheap suits, crappy wing tips, and a buttload of attitude.
“Nope.”
“Then where is she? We were up at the house, but no one answered.. . . Her car’s still there.”
“Y’all have a warrant?”
“Ah, cut the shit, Barlow. We’re just here to introduce ourselves.”
“Yeah,” Flynn said and moved closer to the agents, his broad shoulders blocking Gia’s view. “I’m gonna have to ask you fellows to leave. This is private property.”
“Give me a break, Flynn. We just want to ask her a few questions. What the hell crawled up your ass?”
“Just a little thing called the Constitution. I believe all questions should be directed to her attorney.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Jeff said, and the next thing Gia knew, both agents were heading to the car with their tails between their legs. “Screw you, Barlow. Forget about coming to the house for poker.”
When they left, Gia walked out of the barn. “You know those agents?”
“Jeff Croce, but not the other one. He must be new.”
“How do you know him?”
Flynn just stared at her for a few seconds but didn’t answer. “You better let your lawyer know they were here today. They won’t let up.”
“I don’t have a lawyer anymore,” she said.
Flynn reeled back. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I thought this crap was over . . . and they cost too much.”
“I’d suggest you get one.” He went back inside the barn, came out a few seconds later with his jacket, and headed for his truck. “See you around.”
Gia stood there, watching the puffs of dust trail behind his Ford as he drove away. The man certainly was an enigma. A swaggering jackass one minute, her champion the next. He’d been the first person who wasn’t on her payroll to stick up for her in a long time. And that meant a lot, even if she didn’t want it to.
