Can't Stop Believing (HARMONY) (6 page)

A
LMOST
DAWN
D
UPLEX

B
EAU
Y
ATES
LEANED
AGAINST
THE
WINDOWSILL
,
HIS
BODY
so slim and still he almost looked like a part of the frame. He watched his neighbor step out of a late-model Lincoln and walk slowly toward the porch they shared.

He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d been. If Ronny Logan had been another kind of woman, wild or even normal, he would have guessed she’d had a wild night out, but she wasn’t the type. Ronny was warm hot chocolate on a cold night. She was kittens and apple pie and all the kind of things he thought of as pure good. He’d never heard her say a bad word or claim she hated anyone. She didn’t even complain about her witch of a mother, who flew by now and then on her broom just to remind her only child that she still hated her.

Beau picked up his guitar as his neighbor went into her side of the duplex without raising her head. Somehow, she had a secret. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was good. Maybe she prayed at church all night?

As his fingers began to play across the strings, he smiled, thinking of his secret life. He also climbed into a car now and then with a girl he called Trouble, and they raced the moonlight. It seemed the only time in his twenty years of life that he didn’t feel like he was waiting for something to happen. With the girl in the ponytail, he just relaxed and breathed in life.

Slowly, he picked out the melody to a song about how most folks while their life away waiting for lightning to strike and set the dullness of their days afire, when all they’d have to do is pull the box of matches from their pocket and strike one.

Maybe Ronny was doing just that.

Beau smiled, thinking that he was one of the waiting ones. His father, a preacher to the bone, was convinced Beau lived in sin. He’d left home. He played in a bar. He shared an apartment with a guy who had tattoos and drove a motorcycle. He stayed up all night writing songs.

Setting the guitar down, Beau watched the first pale light of dawn. With luck, he could be sound asleep before full sunup reached Harmony. At least he’d break the bad habit of staying up all night his father thought he had.

Pulling off his shirt as he walked toward his bed, he thought of Trouble in her car as she let the night wind blow her hair. If she ever came around again, he could get used to her as a keeper in the bad-habit column of his life.

B
OXED
B R
ANCH

C
ORD
WORKED
UNTIL
AFTER
MIDNIGHT
,
THEN
TURNED
OFF
the study lights and carried his sleeping bride to what he hoped was their room in the rambling old ranch house. She’d set his suitcase by an empty closet door, but she hadn’t bothered with a tour of the place.

He pulled back the cover on one side of the king-size bed and laid her down. Slowly, he tugged the tie from her hair and let the long white-blond strands spread out across the pillow in streams of gold. With a hunger for something he’d never known, he watched her breathe. She was so lovely, this wife of his, and fragile despite all her tough-girl attitude. For a few minutes he just studied her, learning the curve of her face and the beauty of her hands as he wondered if he’d ever know her better than he did right now.

Neither of them had said a kind word all evening. He’d asked questions and she’d answered, pouting when she didn’t know the answer, sharp when he pushed, but always honest. He didn’t have to tell her what a mess the ranch was in; she saw it same as he had. If the spending continued without any profit coming in, the Boxed B wouldn’t last another year, and she obviously had no one to turn to if she’d come to him.

He doubted she even liked him, but she needed him, and he planned to be there for her—though they both knew they’d be counting this marriage in months.

In one evening with her he’d figured out two things. He already knew more about the ranch than she did, and no other man besides her father had left his fingerprints on the maps in the study. No brother of hers. No husband had cared about the ranch. He’d be the first since her father to take charge, and that was one question he hadn’t had the nerve to ask why.

He told himself that the ranch was why she’d brought him here, but deep down he knew there was more she wasn’t talking about. He felt it. A shadow hung over the ranch like an aging dragon waiting to fight one final battle.

When he’d asked about the oil business, she’d said she almost bankrupted it buying her brother’s half of the ranch. He’d walked away with millions and left her with two lame businesses about to fail.

She’s a fighter
, Cord thought as he covered her and went to the other side of the bed. The night was warm enough that he spread out on top of the covers and fell asleep to the soft sound of her breathing.

When he woke it was after nine. The glare of full daylight shocked him awake. Cord had gotten up early for so long, he felt disoriented at first.

He didn’t see the note on the pillow between them until he stood.

Gone shopping. Be back at noon.
She’d signed her initials, like he might not know who’d left the note.

He walked around the room, unsure what to do. When he realized he was alone in the house, he went through each room. Five bedrooms, each with a bath. All but the master looked to have been closed off years ago. Two living areas, two dining rooms, one small, one huge. A breakfast nook off the ranch kitchen and a big bathroom next to the back door. The wide office they’d worked in had windows facing west.

Two facts about it tumbled in his mind. One, he could almost see his farm if he stared hard enough, and two, a loaded Colt rested in the bottom drawer of the massive desk. Maybe Nevada kept her father’s Colt there to remember him, or maybe she felt there was a need to be armed.

When they knew each other better, he’d act like he’d just noticed it and ask. Maybe. His headstrong wife was afraid of something . . . something more than him. She was skittish as a pony who’d heard a rattler.

Cord found another office upstairs next to an exercise room and a game room. The pool table looked as if it had never been used, but animal heads covered the walls and full gun racks braced each corner. Most of the weapons were classic Remingtons that looked like they’d never been fired.

Cord felt a little like a robber casing the place, but he needed to know the house and he wasn’t sure she cared enough to show him around.

The upstairs study was cluttered with papers and books. This was Nevada’s world. He could almost feel her here. It looked newly painted in pale blues and greens with sketches of horses covering the wall. When he moved closer he saw dates on each frame along with
N.B.
scribbled in the corner of each. She’d been painting pictures of horses since she was seven, each year getting better and better. Her office was the only room he felt reluctant to leave. The only room that wasn’t cold and aged.

He knew without asking that this place might be her house, but she had never made it her home. There were no pictures of family, no trophies, nothing that looked like it might have belonged to any one person.

By the time he got to know the house and showered, Nevada was back. She walked into the bedroom as he buttoned his Levi’s. When he looked up she was standing in the door, her arms loaded down with bags and her blue eyes watching him.

He’d never thought of himself as shy, but darn if he didn’t feel himself blush. “Any chance you bought me a shirt? The only dress shirt I own is pretty wrinkled after I slept in it.” On this full day together he didn’t want to wear one of his old work shirts.

She popped out of her trance. “I did. Most of what I bought is being altered or ordered, but I did pick up a few things. You’re about the same size as my brother, but I tossed all his clothes when he left.” Like a rabid squirrel, she dropped the bags and began rummaging, then proudly showed her prize to him.

“Thanks,” he managed to say as she stared at his chest. “You finished looking?”

She ducked her head. “Yes,” she mumbled as she went back to digging in the bags.

While he pulled the pins and cardboard out of an eighty-dollar pale blue shirt with pearl snaps, she lined up socks atop a boot box. “I just told the Bailey brothers to load me up with a week’s worth of work clothes. They said that after forty years in the business they can guess a man’s sizes down to his underwear when he walks in the door.”

Cord pulled on the finest shirt he’d ever owned, thinking that she thought it was a work shirt. The cotton had to be blended with silk or something. He thought of telling her a twenty-dollar shirt would do fine, but he’d already agreed she could dress him, so he might as well play along. Shopping was something she probably had made pro in before she was out of high school.

Five minutes later he realized the boots fit perfectly as well. They had an inch heel and the leather was soft. When he faced her, he held up his hands, feeling a little like the world’s largest paper doll. “Do I pass?”

“You passed, Cord, when you were just wearing your jeans, but now you look like a man who runs a ranch. Ready to see the place?”

“No,” he said. “First we eat. I’ve already missed breakfast and it’s almost noon.”

“This feeding you might be a problem. When Ora Mae shows up Monday, I may have to give her a raise.”

“Come on, Princess. I’ll show you how to make sandwiches. We can eat once we’re in the saddle. I plan to see every square mile of this place before dark.”

“Let me change first. You can put your things in that closet while you wait.” She pointed to the closet where she’d left his suitcase as she crossed the room to the other walk-in closet and bathroom. “And,” she yelled over her shoulder, “don’t call me Princess.”

“Fine,” he answered as he stepped into what was now his closet. “This place is bigger than my bedroom at home and there’s a dresser built in here.”

She didn’t answer, and he hoped she hadn’t heard. He was sounding like a hick. The walls began closing in on him and he fought to keep them at bay. Years of living in a cell so small he could almost touch the walls played on his mind and made him crave open spaces. Even a closet this big wasn’t a place he wanted to spend any time in.

Dropping the bags, he moved back to the door and took a deep breath. Air. He needed fresh air.

In three long strides he was at the wall of windows and noticed that none were built to open. What kind of idiot builds windows that don’t open?

Looking toward her closet door, he saw her standing among her colorful clothes. She’d stripped off her dress and was tugging on her jeans. The bra and panties were little more than lace.

Cord gave up breathing altogether. He’d seen pictures of women nude, movies with beautiful bodies, but nothing had ever affected him like the sight of Nevada. He couldn’t have turned away if she’d threatened death.

He watched her button her pants and then pull on a white T-shirt that fit like a second skin. Over the tee, she wiggled into an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder. Turning, she looked up and smiled. “Finished looking?”

He’d lost the power of speech, so he just stood as still as a tree.

What few brain cells he had left knew he should probably apologize, or something, but all he could get out was, “I . . . I . . .”

She walked past him and picked up her hat. “Look, Cord, we’re going to be living together for a while. We might as well get used to each other. I’ve never been shy and it’s nothing I’m sure you haven’t seen before.”

When he didn’t move, she added, “I’ll pack up some water and fruit while you collect your thoughts.”

With that she was gone. He felt like he was one of those backward people on
Star Trek
who got beamed up on the teleporter of the starship
Enterprise
. He couldn’t understand what was going on. Had she just told him it was all right for him to watch her dress? Hell, he felt a habit coming on.

When he finally found the new hat she’d bought him and made it to the front door, she was waiting for him. They were saddled up and riding full out before he could clear the vision of her standing in her underwear from his mind.

Nevada had obviously gotten over the view of him much faster, because she was rattling off facts about the ranch. She might not know anything about the day-to-day running of the place, but she knew its history.

She also knew how to ride across the open land and where all the watering holes and roads were. She could recite facts about the oil production that had been going on since long before she was born.

Again and again he climbed down to feel the earth. The land was good, but very little of it was being used. Except for the pasture where her twenty prize horses roamed, most of the pastureland was empty, if you didn’t count jackrabbits. The land that had been plowed under for crops had been abandoned years ago to weeds, and he’d seen records of where hay had been hauled in for winter feed even though there were more than enough barns to hold a homegrown supply.

“There’s a great deal to be done.” He saw potential.

“Hire who you need,” she said. “The money you put in the safe last night should pay any day labor, but the regulars draw ranch checks. I’ve been advertising for a new bookkeeper for the ranch. You might as well do the hiring. Ora Mae will call those who applied for interviews when you have time. You’ll meet all the staff on Monday.”

“Who pays the hands?”

“I have been for the last four months since the last bookkeeper quit. Cattle started disappearing about that time, and lately I’ve noticed the men hanging around the bunkhouse kitchen waiting for orders. Some are good men, I think, but they need a leader. They’re not comfortable handling things.”

“How many foremen you been through since your dad got ill and stopped running the place?”

“Four. The last one was just a hand, but he tried. Mostly he made mistakes and I wasn’t much help to him.”

“How many bookkeepers?”

“Three.” She didn’t need him to say more. “I know. I’ve got a problem. I have to take off work at the office to show them around, and then about the time they learn everything, they leave. I think someone is buying them away, offering more money. No matter what I do, I can’t keep more than the cleaning staff and a handful of cowhands.”

Cord swore he saw a tear slide over her cheek, and he had no doubt that she had tried. “I’ll make mistakes too. Lots of them.” He stared at the sky, giving her time to relax. She’d acted as if he might criticize her for not making a go of two businesses at once. “Can I count on you standing with me, right or wrong? I don’t want men going around me and you changing things I’m setting up. If you don’t like something I’m doing, I expect you to tell me first.”

“You have my word.” She climbed down and pulled a water bottle from her pack. “I love this place, but Dad never thought I needed to know ranch business. He didn’t even like me showing up at the roundups. To him the ranch was my brothers’, and the oil business was a place he’d let me work. It didn’t matter that they all three hated it. When my two oldest brothers died, Dad just doubled his efforts to force Barrett to take over. I think Barrett left a week after the funeral, fearing that somehow the land might trap him even with Dad gone. He signed it over to me, and I gave him all cash on hand along with stock in the oil. Sometimes I think I paid too dearly for land I don’t even know how to run. I sometimes think maybe the only reason I wanted it was because of my horses, and maybe because Dad didn’t want me having any part of it.”