Can't Hurry Love (3 page)

“Do you miss him?”

“I miss having someone to talk to.” Not that Joel was a great talker. But now that her brother was gone, she was so alone here on the ranch.

“You have me.”

She smiled. “I mean another adult.”

“Like that Dennis guy?”

Earlier this summer she’d gotten caught up with a con artist trying to steal money from Luc and his girlfriend, Tara Jean Sweet. Victoria had been gullible and desperate, easy pickings for a man like Dennis. When things didn’t work out the way he’d hoped, Dennis had shown up at the ranch and had held a gun to Jacob’s head before Luc and Eli had managed to disarm him. And the memory of that night was so embarrassing that she felt her skin crawl. Her stomach turned at the thought of how Jacob’s life had been endangered because she was so dumb.

“No, honey. Dennis was a mistake.”

Jacob stood inside a bright square of sunlight streaming in through the high windows. His skin was translucent in the light; she could see the blue of his veins, the beat of his heart. “Are you going to get married again?”

“No.” That, at least, was one thing she could bank on. She didn’t have that kind of love inside of her anymore. That kind of faith and trust and compromise. It all just cost too much. “It’s just you and me, kid. Now, you want to help me finish this horse’s stall?”

“Yeah!” he cried and tipped over the plastic bag. Two
big pouches of the rose potpourri that Ruby, the housekeeper, loved came tumbling out, along with a big heart pillow with hearts and the words “Home Sweet Home” embroidered on it.

She ripped open the potpourri and started scattering it across the fresh hay.

As far as revenge went, it was pretty silly. But imagining Eli’s fierce face when he saw the rose petals all over his precious horse’s stall made her smile.

And her smile made her son smile.

And that was reason enough for anything.

Cresting the low bluff over the north pasture, Eli swung down from his horse and counted the trucks in the green valley below. Twelve of them. He saw Jones, who’d be acting on behalf of the Triple L, Lou from Spring Creek, Oscar from Los Camillos. Quite a few people he didn’t recognize, who’d probably come down from Oklahoma. But all of them were here to take away a piece of the infamous Crooked Creek herd.

The far green and brown hills were dotted with cattle as far as the eye could see. Nine hundred lots. Half heifers born of stock known for its fertility, easy births, and resilience to infection. Two dozen certified studs, most of them bred from Lyle’s first stud, that award-winning beast on which he’d spent a fortune.

A hot wind blew up from the south, rustling through the grasses that had gone dry and yellow in the last weeks of summer. And the wind seemed to be whispering,
What the hell are you doing?

Selling the herd was going to ruin Victoria. Without the income of the cattle she wouldn’t be able to pay the taxes on the land. She probably didn’t even know that.

Christ, how could she refuse two million dollars?

If he got rid of this herd, he didn’t have a job and he didn’t have access to the Crooked Creek breeding equipment.

Without the equipment the next part of his plan wouldn’t get off the ground.

What am I doing?

The clop-clop of horse hooves behind him made him turn. Uncle John’s arrival was a mixed blessing. He didn’t stand for people feeling sorry for themselves, among other things. And Eli was feeling very sorry for himself.

“Well, now, boy, is this the day of your vengeance?” John asked, coming up over the hill on that blue gelding he loved. No one would say it to his face, but Uncle John needed to lose a couple ten pounds. Even on his six-foot, six-inch body, the man was getting big. But when a man’s sixty-five with no wife, no kids, more money than God, and no one around to tell him what to do, Eli supposed he could do what he wanted. And Uncle John wanted to eat chicken wings for breakfast.

No matter the soft belly, though, Eli’s uncle fit the landscape. He was hard and tough, and larger than life.

“
Our
vengeance. Today is the day of
our
vengeance,” Eli corrected, feeling the stir of his misgivings settle down. Nothing like having a teammate to make a man feel better when things were going to shit.

Uncle John laughed, heaving himself out of the saddle. And once he was on the ground, he slapped Eli’s back so hard that it reverberated through his body like thunder, shaking loose what was left of that doubt. “That’s my boy.”

Eli wasn’t, not strictly speaking. Yet in all of the ways that mattered, Uncle John was more of a father to Eli than his own father had ever been. Eli had never had much reason to feel like a kid, even when he’d been one. But standing next to his uncle, in the shade of his
large smile, he felt small. And just a little—just enough—cared for.

Emotion rolled itself into a ball in the back of his throat.

“Oh man, you’re gonna start crying, aren’t you?” John said. “I always told Mark you were more like your momma than us. We shoulda beat you more.”

Eli laughed at the old joke.

“You just roll out of bed?” Eli took in his uncle’s slapdash look. “You’ve got coffee all over your shirt. And”—he reached out a hand to pick up the jelly-covered crumb of donut that was stuck to his collar—“Uncle John, the doctors told you to lay off the fried food.”

“Donuts ain’t fried, are they? Besides, Janet keeps giving them to me every time I go to the coffee shop.”

“Then stop going to the coffee shop.”

“Well, now, you know if I did that, Janet would probably die of a broken heart.”

Uncle John was a rock in a river; everything rolled off his back. Eli threw up his hands—there was no winning.

John had left the ranch as a kid, and had worked some years roughnecking on oil rigs along the gulf until he had enough money to buy land and build some rigs of his own. Now he had more money than any man in faded denim and a dirty shirt should. Truth was, Eli wouldn’t have a chance of getting back the Crooked Creek if it weren’t for his uncle and all his money.

“I guess you’re right,” Eli conceded.

“Damn right I’m right.” John pulled off his hat and swept his hand through what was left of his haywire, sweaty black hair. “Question is, why the hell are we meeting up here, when the auction is down there?”

“Jared the auctioneer knows what to do. I’d just be in the way.”

“Yeah, and I suppose it’s got nothing to do with all
those questions everyone down there is going to have about why Lyle Baker’s trusted foreman is selling off the entire herd.”

“No one down there is going to ask. Half of those trucks belong to men who want to stick it to Lyle Baker’s ghost as best they can. I’m going to get low-balled all damn day.”

“But no one thought it would be you getting in the first shot.”

“Well, I’m not selling the entire herd. I’ve kept about fifty head, heifers mostly. A couple of bulls.”

“Why?”

Eli tipped back his own dusty and sweat-stained hat and grinned into his uncle’s florid face. “Steak.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was a truth his uncle would like. And he did—his laughter echoed down through the valley.

Eli smiled, but his guts twisted with doubt. He squinted up into the sun, feeling as though the ground, so sure under his feet a few hours ago, had turned to quicksand.

“She turned down our offer, didn’t she?” John asked, and Eli nodded. “Son of a bitch, those Bakers are stubborn. Ten years we been making offers—”

“Maybe I’m not making the right arguments?” Eli asked.

“Is there a better argument than two million dollars?”

“If there is, I can’t think of it.”

John’s eyes chased him down, held him still. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

Eli stared at the same green hills he’d been staring at since he was born. The land his entire family had been born on. And this … this was the only land he wanted. But Christ, it was wearing him down trying to get it back.

“Of course not.”

“Maybe you want to try that again so I’ll believe it?”

He couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come out of his mouth, crushed down by all of the frustrations of his life, and of his father’s life before him. Getting back his family land was a chain around his neck.

“I’ve worked for that family my entire life, for what? Half the proceeds of a herd I practically built? I pay rent on my own damn house!”

“Not after today. You’ll make enough to buy back the house.”

“That’s not the point, Uncle John.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what this little temper tantrum is about, son.”

Eli shut his mouth, chastened like a child.

John wouldn’t understand; he had the money to do what he wanted. All Eli had was this damn herd and a bunch of plans he couldn’t even get off the ground.

John sighed. “I know you staying on as foreman has made it hard for you to get your breeding business started. But I’ve told you, breeding isn’t any way to make money.”

“I don’t need to be rich, Uncle John. I just … I just want something of my own. Free and clear.”

Uncle John’s big hand settled on his shoulder and Eli flinched.

“When you were ten years old, you know what you said to me?”

Eli shook his head, words caught behind the emotion in his throat.

“You said the Crooked Creek Ranch felt like home. The only home you ever wanted. And I thought you were just a little kid, mimicking what you’d heard your daddy and me talk about, but you kept right on saying it. Got to the point where you knew this land better than your dad ever did and sure as hell better than any Baker. I’d watch you take that old dun out along the fence line,
and you’d be gone for a week, checking the fence, camping out along the way, missing school, missing out on everything a boy your age was supposed to be doing—”

“Come on, Uncle John—”

“No, you need to know that I see you. I see what you’ve done. You are a part of this land. And yeah, I want it back, but I want it back for you, boy. It’s your birthright.”

It was a powerful one-two punch: the word
birthright
and his uncle’s steady affection. His unflinching support. “But I need to know we’re in this together,” John said. “That we’re a team.”

Victoria would cave sooner or later. She wasn’t made for this land, or this work. Eli was closer than ever to getting the land back. He just had to be patient.

“We’re a team,” Eli said, forcing himself to feel what his uncle wanted him to feel.

“Now, about that breeding business you’re cooking up—”

“With the sale of the herd, I’ll have money to get a couple of stallions from Los Camillos.”

“What about equipment? The barn down at your place is in sad shape.”

“I can use the equipment at Crooked Creek and they’ve got plenty of empty stalls. Lyle was fine with it when he was alive.”

“If you need money, I know there’s oil out there beyond the house. One drill and we could live like kings.”

Eli shot him a look over his shoulder. This was an old argument, and it hadn’t changed for a decade. Eli didn’t want any wells on his land.

“What do you need more money for?” Eli asked.

“You can never have too much money. And frankly, I got a bone to pick with that land; seems a Turnbull should get more than saddle sores from it.”

“No drills.”

“Fine, a loan. You can go see my lawyer—”

It would be so easy to take it. If he were a different man, maybe he would. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. But for some reason, he couldn’t take any more of his uncle’s money. Not for his own personal stuff. “You’re already paying for Dad, Uncle John. I’ll be all right after I sell this herd.” More than all right—his bank account wasn’t going to know what hit it. Even after buying his home and the ten acres around it and a couple of horses.

“Seems to me you’ve got a problem. If there’s no herd, she doesn’t need you.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Of course, if she doesn’t have a herd, she doesn’t need land.” John pushed his hands into his back pockets. “After what her husband did to her, she might just be desperate enough for cash to sell some of that land she doesn’t need.”

Eli smiled, catching the old coyote’s drift.

Suddenly, selling the herd not only put some much-needed cash in his pocket, but it also put Victoria in a position to sell him back his land, a few acres at a time.

The same way his family had lost it to the Bakers over the years.

He grinned and turned to watch the auction down in the valley.

“Good thing I’m a patient man.”

At twilight, Eli rode Patience back into the barn on Crooked Creek, satisfaction a light in his chest, guiding him home. The auction brought in a million five. Split in half with the Baker estate, that gave him three quarters of a million dollars. And that … that gave him limitless
possibilities. He had his eye on the land on the other side of the creek. He could start a hay crop. Get the combine fixed. Fix the barn on his property so Patience could bed down in her rightful home.

Maybe get another mare in addition to the studs he was planning on buying. That Palomino over at Los Camillos was a total beauty.

Inside the barn, the cats mewed quietly from their various homes. Horses nickered in welcome, heavy hoofs hitting the dirt behind the green-painted stall doors. There was a strange smell in the air, something flowery.

Maybe money made the world smell like roses.

He smiled at the thought. Money made him dumb. Probably good he’d never had any until now.

But he slid open the door to Patience’s stall and the flowers … that smell … it wasn’t in his head. It was in the hay. Dried roses and cinnamon sticks crunched under his heels. It was that potpourri crap, scattered all over the fresh hay.

Behind him, Patience snorted, throwing her mane. She didn’t like it any better than he did.

But the indignity didn’t stop there. On the far wall, the splintered wood was adorned with a glittering Christmas wreath and in the corner, like a fat white cat, sat one of Ruby’s embroidered pillows from the couch in the den.

“What the hell?” He picked it up, the fabric soft under his rough fingers.