Riding High

by Stacy Finz

  Now for the real reason he was here. Clay McCreedy wanted to know what Gia planned to do with the ranch. “I don’t think I’ll be running cattle after Flynn’s lease is up.” Keep it vague, she told herself. “But I’d like to grow some things.”

  His brows inched up. “Oh yeah, like what kind of things?”

  “I’m not entirely sure yet. You have any ideas?”

  He was now looking at her like a city slicker who wanted to play at farming, which she was. But at least she’d mollified him that she wasn’t turning the place into a resort.

  “Biggest crop up here besides timber is alfalfa,” he said.

  “Really? I was thinking about produce, nuts, and maybe grapes for wine.” It was hard to get excited about growing hay. Wine on the other hand . . .

  “Not a lot of that around here because of the freezing conditions. But alfalfa and meadow hay were more than a seven-million-dollar crop last year. That was partly because the drought drove up demand. Still, it does pretty well for the county.”

  Okay, it was getting a little more exciting.

  “People do grow some vegetables and plenty of folks raise honey . . . if you want to diversify. But I’m a rancher, not a farmer, so you’re talking to the wrong guy. Flynn knows a lot of farmers in these parts. Tell him what you’re thinking.”

  She actually had a consultant coming to the ranch to talk about options. But the real purpose of the farm was to create a loophole around the zoning rules so she could turn the ranch into her residential program. If the women were producing an agricultural product, neighbors might be less likely to complain. In the meantime, she didn’t intend to fully disclose her plans until she got to know the residents.

  “I’ll do that,” she said.

  “He’s a good guy, even if he is from Quincy.”

  “Is there some kind of rivalry between the two towns?”

  “Only in good fun,” he said. “What else you planning to do so far away from the big city?”

  He was still fishing, but Gia couldn’t blame him for being curious. She wasn’t exactly your average girl next door.

  “Honestly,” she said, “recuperate from the past months of upheaval, ride Rory, and live a normal life.”

  His expression softened. “I hear ya and I wish you well in that endeavor. Ride over to McCreedy Ranch. The boys will show you some nice trails up in the state park.”

  “I’d definitely like that. And I would really love to meet your wife.”

  “Absolutely. We’re a tight-knit community around here, always looking out for one another.” He pulled a wallet from his pocket, fumbled through it, and handed her a business card. “The house number is on there, and my cell phone. You call anytime if you need something.”

  She found a pad of paper and a pen in one of the drawers, jotted down her numbers, and gave it to him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share this with anyone outside your family.”

  “Of course not,” he said, and something about his character made her believe him. But Gia’s judgment was shaky at best. Case in point: Evan Laughlin. “You meet Lucky and Tawny Rodriguez yet? They’re your other neighbors.”

  “Not yet.” But she’d heard about the champion bull rider and his boot-designer wife.

  “You will. They’re good people, you’ll like ’em.” He got up and put the hat he’d rested on the countertop back on his head.

  She walked him out, watched him drive away, and went inside to have a piece of that tart.

  Chapter 5

  Midweek, Flynn made it back to Rosser Ranch. He wondered if Gia would continue calling it that, though the locals probably would never stop. The place, in his mind, would always hold the name of Gia’s predecessor.

  He threw flakes of hay to Dude and Rory. Since the previous Friday, Gia had been feeding them. Nice of her, although he suspected it wasn’t so much a favor to him as a kindness to his horse. As he watched both equines munch away, his stomach growled. He’d left at dawn’s early light and hadn’t had time for breakfast or even a cup of coffee.

  Perhaps he’d go into town and grab something at either the Ponderosa or the Bun Boy. While the Bun Boy didn’t have any indoor seating—it was just a drive-through with picnic tables—the mornings were warmer now for eating alfresco. It would give Dude time to finish his hay before Flynn rode him to the back forty to check on the cattle. He was about to get in his truck when Gia came down the trail from her house carrying two mugs.

  “One of those for me?” he asked, joking. When she nodded, he was surprised.

  It must’ve shown because she said, “It’s in return for running the men in suits off my property. Again, how is it you knew them?”

  “Small world.” He blew out a breath, took one of the mugs from her, and sipped. “Mmm, good stuff.”

  She eyed him for a few seconds and kept whatever she was thinking to herself.

  “What’ve you been up to?” he asked just to fill space.

  “Day trading.”

  He creased his brow. Brilliant financial lady like her should know better. “Isn’t that kind of risky? Isn’t investing all about the long-term?”

  “In most cases, yes. But I’m pretty good at it.”

  He figured what she wasn’t saying is that she needed money. Not at all the actions of a person sitting on a pile of stolen cash. Then again, the loot had likely been stashed away and couldn’t be touched without raising flags.

  “I never saw you mention day trading as a viable financial plan in any of your books,” he said.

  “You’ve read my books?” She looked stunned.

  “My mother does. But I’ve been known to leaf through one or two. Good stuff.”

  She smiled. It was the first genuine one he’d seen from her and it about knocked him over like a mad steer. It was that powerful.

  “What does your mom do?”

  “She’s a housewife and helps my dad run the ranch. It started with her wanting to set up college funds for her grandkids. She’d seen you on TV, bought one of your books, and the rest is history.”

  “You have kids?”

  “My brother’s kids,” he said and took another sip of coffee.

  “That’s nice . . . that she likes my books . . . thanks for telling me.”

  “She liked your show too,” he added. “Was angry when they canceled it.”

  “It appears she’s in the minority. Most people wanted to see my head on a pike.”

  He nodded. “A lot people lost money in that scam. How did someone like you fall for it?” Flynn knew he was pushing it.

  At first he didn’t think she would answer. She just stared past him to the empty horse stalls.

  “To fall on the old cliché: Love is blind. I trusted him . . . not in my wildest dreams could I imagine him stealing from me or anyone else. At least I was conservative when it came to investing with him. Others invested all they had.”

  “Yet you’re day trading,” he said a mite too sanctimoniously.

  “You wanna know the truth? It’s like you said, I couldn’t really afford this property. But I had to have it. The whole world was falling in on me and this ranch was the first place I felt safe. Really safe. Like everything here would make everything else all right.” She gazed up at him and shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “I get it. How much you in the hole for?” He was getting mighty personal.

  She let out a puff of air. “I paid cash for the ranch . . . but I have things I want to do . . . and those taxes you were talking about. And . . . well . . .”

  “Money’s tight?” When she nodded, he said, “Sounds like you need to get a job.”

  “I’ve got one.” She grinned. “Day trading. If things keep going the way they’ve been, I should be flush by summer.”

  Foolhardy if you asked him, but she wasn’t.

  “I guess Ray’s buying cigarettes in prison with my grazing-rights money,” Flynn said. Rosser got to keep the proceeds from the lease as terms of the agreement, eve
n though Gia now owned the property.

  “Dana thinks he’s giving the money to his wife and daughter. If that’s the case, I don’t have a problem with it.” She said it like she had empathy for them.

  If the rumors were true, the sale of the ranch had been a windfall for the Rossers. Enough to pay Ray’s legal fees and then some. “I think they’re doing okay.”

  “I hope so. It sounds like Ray was a pretty difficult man.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “I thought your families were good friends.”

  He knew she was referring to the sweetheart deal the Barlows had gotten on the lease. “I helped him out once. He was returning the favor.”

  Flynn had written up a living trust for Rosser. Turned out Raylene wasn’t his only kid. Ray didn’t exactly want that news getting out, and in these mountains word had a tendency to travel. Of course as Ray’s attorney, Flynn was required to keep his mouth shut. But he’d worked it out so that the specifics of the trust could never be leaked. Only when Ray died would his beneficiaries find out.

  “As far as my family,” he continued, “there was no particular love for the Rossers. We both ran cow-calf operations, that’s all.”

  “Cow calf? Is that what Clay McCreedy runs too?”

  “Yep. All that means is we keep a permanent herd and sell the calves for beef. Clay’s is one of the finest.”

  “I met him on Monday. He seems like a nice man.”

  “Yup, great guy. Now there’s a family that mine has been friends with forever.”

  “It’s amazing how everyone here knows one another, how you’re entwined since birth.”

  He laughed. “Sometimes it has its drawbacks, but for the most part it’s good to be part of a small town where everyone looks out for one another.” He nudged his head at her riding outfit, a pair of skin-tight pants—Flynn thought they called them jodhpurs—knee-high equestrian boots, and a short-sleeved, fitted T-shirt. It was sexy as hell but completely impractical for the dusty trails of the Sierra. “You going riding?”

  “Yep.” She looked at her watch. “I made my profit target more than an hour ago.”

  He knew she was talking about trading stocks. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” It was high time he got to work too, though he was still considering that breakfast.

  Gia led Rory out of her stall, took her over to the tack area, and groomed her with a curry comb before saddling up. He had a hard time—hard being the operative word—watching her move around in those tight pants. Every time she bent over they outlined every curve of her ass while the snug top rode up, exposing a nice expanse of creamy, smooth back skin. Weren’t the English supposed to be prudes? Those jodhpurs, or whatever the hell they called them, were better than porn.

  Quickly turning away when he thought she’d caught him ogling her, Flynn pretended to be busy with Dude. Ah hell, he needed to get out of the barn . . . away from her. He put a lead on Dude and, just like Gia, began the ritual of saddling him.

  But he was faster, which stood to reason because he’d been doing it daily since he was four. He put one foot in the stirrup, hoisted himself up into the saddle, and guided Dude out the door. “Catch you later.”

  “Yep, see you around.”

  He spent an hour riding fences. The ranch was huge and no longer employed a staff of hands to check for breaks and holes. All it took was an opening for a few steers or cows to wander out, wind up on the road, maybe get hit by a car, or roam into another rancher’s herd. Although his had the Barlow brand, it was a hassle recovering lost cattle. He found a few places where the wood had rotted or the barbed wire had become loose. As soon as he got the necessary supplies, he’d come back and make the repairs.

  He spent another hour checking the herd in the south pasture. It was a beautiful morning, mild enough to get away with a lightweight denim jacket. In the distance, a red-tailed hawk glided across the sky, its broad rounded wings spread wide. It was hunting, and Flynn stopped Dude for a few minutes to observe the bird swoop into the field, catch breakfast, and quickly take flight. He loved everything about spring mornings in the Sierra. The serenity, the fresh, dewy smell, and the way the light played on the mountains. Breathtaking.

  But he wanted to get those fences fixed by noon so he didn’t have time to dawdle. Reining his gelding around, he headed back to the stable. There was no sign of Gia, which he hated to admit disappointed him. This morning they’d made decent strides toward being civilized with each other. Hell, she’d been damned friendly, considering their past encounters. Frankly, Flynn had been surprised how open Gia had been about her finances, the day trading, Evan Laughlin.

  Love is blind. Nice line, even if it was a cliché.

  And pretty personal stuff to tell a near stranger. Perhaps it was part of her cover. None of it made any sense to Flynn, and he’d always been good at reading these things. In the Bureau his uncanny ability to see through the bullshit had made him a crack agent and after that, his aptitude for putting the pieces together had made him an even better prosecutor.

  Disappointed or not, the less he saw of Gia the better. She was a little too tempting.

  He unsaddled Dude, got him situated, and headed to town. There was a line at the drive-through for the Bun Boy, so he parked, went to the window, and ordered two egg sandwiches, hash browns, and coffee. When they called his name, he took his food to one of the empty picnic tables. Everyone seemed to be on the go this morning.

  He was halfway through one of the egg sandwiches when Donna Thurston, proprietor of the fast-food joint, wandered over. He’d known her for years.

  “Flynn Barlow, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sneaking in and out without saying hello.”

  He grinned. “I wasn’t sneaking. I just didn’t see you.”

  “How’re your parents? I haven’t seen them in ages, not since the Plumas County Fair.”

  “They’re good,” he said. “Busy.”

  “Your ma still jarring that delicious honey?”

  “You bet.” They kept two dozen beehives on the ranch in Quincy. His mother swore that due to the lavender and cloves she grew her honey was the best in three counties.

  Donna looked up at the clear blue sky. “Farmers’ market starts next week. She planning to have a booth?” They held two a week—Wednesdays and Fridays—in the square while the weather held.

  “I believe so.” She’d been making the forty-minute trek every spring and summer for the last six years. Barely breaking even, she mostly did it to socialize with the Nugget friends she rarely got to see.

  “Well, good,” Donna said and sat herself next to him on the picnic bench. “What’ve you been up to?”

  “Calving season. I’ve been spending a lot of time at Rosser Ranch.”

  “With that Gia Treadwell?” She raised her brows. “You think she buried the money somewhere on the property?”

  “What money?” He played stupid.

  She shot him a look. “All that money Evan Laughlin stole. I’ve got two conflicting theories on it. The first one: She’s in it up to her eyeballs; she and that Laughlin fellow, a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.”

  “Yeah,” Flynn said, trying not to sound too amused. “What’s your second theory?”

  “Laughlin seduced her right out of her bank account. You ever see the man? He looks just like Hugh Jackman. Now what kind of red-blooded woman could resist a man like that?”

  “Hmm,” Flynn replied, not that interested in how good-looking Laughlin was. He was a crook, which made him ugly in Flynn’s eyes.

  “Well? What’s your theory, former G-man?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  He laughed and started in on his second sandwich. “What’s going on around here?”

  “Not a lot. And I’m praying for a noneventful summer, not like last year.”

  Last summer there’d been a series of arson fires in town. No one had been seriously hurt, but the blazes had caused some of t
he buildings considerable damage. The region’s new arson investigator had solved the case and last Flynn had heard, the firebug was doing time.

  “Everyone’s excited about Dana and Aidan’s wedding, even though it’ll be in Reno,” she continued.

  Flynn didn’t know Dana or Aidan, but he nodded as if he did. Otherwise he’d be here all day while Donna gave him their entire life stories. “You going?”

  “Of course I am. How about you?”

  “Didn’t get invited.”

  “I could certainly fix that, Flynn Barlow. How else will you meet a nice woman? Everyone knows weddings are the perfect place. I bet Dana has lots of single girlfriends from college who’ll be there.”

  “I’m actually seeing a stenographer in Sacramento.” He wasn’t really, but it would keep Donna off his back.

  “Hey, Flynn.” Sloane McBride, one of Nugget PD’s finest, sat down across from him and Donna at the table. “How goes it?”

  “It goes.” He eyed her heaping tray of food. “Doesn’t your chef husband cook for you?”

  “He’s in San Francisco at the mother ship.” Brady worked as the executive chef for Breyer Hotels. Nate Breyer, the owner, lived part-time in Nugget and owned the Lumber Baron with his sister, Maddy.

  “You going to my brother’s wedding?” Sloane asked.

  “He wasn’t invited,” Donna said.

  “I could make that happen.” Sloane popped half a hash-brown patty into her mouth and said, “Wanna go?”

  “I don’t know him or the bride.”

  “So, free food. Brady’s catering it. And Dana’s parents have a mansion. There’s plenty of room.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Flynn scrunched up his garbage and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “In the meantime, I’ve got to get to Farm Supply, buy material, and mend some fences. It was nice seeing both of you.”

  “You too,” Sloane said on a full mouth. It looked to Flynn like her uniform was getting a bit on the snug side. The extra weight looked good on her, like she was in love and happy.

  He kissed Donna on the top of her head.

  “Don’t you go being a stranger,” she said.

  “I won’t.”

  He crossed the picnic area, strolled across the parking lot, got in his truck, and drove to the other side of town to Farm Supply. The giant Quonset hut carried everything but the kitchen sink. Western wear, home goods, chicken coops, sheds, feed, tack, seeds, plants, fencing, you name it.