Lone Tree (2 page)

For several seconds, she didn’t draw a breath.

Personal secretary wanted. Temporary,
possibly leading to permanent. Six-hour day, four-day week. Contact Miles
Auburn, Lone Tree Ranch.

Her paralysis broke and her mind raced. Talk about luck.
A tailor-made opportunity dropped right into her lap. She didn’t want the job,
but she wanted that interview.

*

The next day Lainie set out to discover if a
handwritten, hand-delivered resume would get her inside the front door at Lone
Tree. She dressed simply, in sandals and a sundress in pink pinstripes, hoping
her casual attire would inspire a like manner.

A knot formed in her belly when she passed through
the Auburn gate. Glancing at the envelope-enclosed resume on the passenger
seat, she took several deep breaths and reminded herself a case of nerves might
hit her even if she were merely applying for a job.

Within a few minutes buildings appeared in the
distance, gradually taking shape like unfolding pages of animation. A corral
and fenced pens were situated at the right of the ranch house and stretched
beyond it. The dwelling was single-story, painted the color of cream with
dark-green trim, squarish and huge, but not showy. Three posts, placed about
six feet apart, supported a peaked overhang that sheltered the front door and
porch.

As she braked to a stop she glimpsed a slightly
built, elderly man entering what she assumed was a stable. At each side of the
main building, separated by a driveway that appeared to circle the house, were
smaller structures that resembled cottages.

The middle-aged woman who answered the door looked
Hispanic and sounded Texan. After accepting the resume, she showed Lainie into
a small, formal front room to wait. Lainie sat in an overstuffed armchair in
dark-blue fabric with her back straight, ankles crossed, and hands in her lap.
Curiosity and apprehension mixed within her as she looked around. The room
apparently got little use. Nothing was out of place, no personal items
anywhere. Her presence seemed to echo back at her.

She couldn’t picture her mother in this room, and
was glad because that allowed her to stay detached. Soon the woman reappeared
and led Lainie a short way down the hall to another room, which, unlike the one
she’d just left, was so massive it came close to intimidating her.

The hall door through which she’d entered was
standard-sized, but the set of French doors at the other end were as wide as a
two-car garage. Outside was a patio, shaded by an arbor and decorated with pots
of yellow and orange marigolds. On the long wall to her right was a brick
fireplace with a cozy arrangement of a sofa, an armchair and a coffee table
facing it. Two portraits hung above the fireplace. She had time for a brief
glance at them before the man seated at the desk in the far corner looked up,
then stood.

Her heart was beating faster than she liked.

“Miss Johnson, welcome to Lone Tree. I’m Miles
Auburn.” His voice was as deep as his size would lead one to expect. At two or
three inches more than six feet, and probably weighing better than two-fifty,
he fit the oversized room well. Age appeared to be treating him kindly; his
shock of hair had as much pepper in it as salt. He wore casual gray slacks,
belted and fastened with a silver lone star buckle, and a western shirt in a blue
and gray plaid.

She crossed the room and extended her hand. “Hello,
Mr. Auburn. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” As he shook her hand, his
gaze, personal yet impersonal, didn’t move from her eyes, but she sensed that
he was weighing and sizing and measuring her nonetheless. Lainie suspected
she’d just been appraised by a master, and she didn’t know if she’d been found
wanting or not.

He motioned for her to take the chair opposite his
desk, then he seated himself. His gaze dropped to her resume, which lay flat
and open atop his desk, its empty envelope next to it.

“Lainie Johnson, from Millbrae, California,” he read
aloud and then looked up. “Most interesting response by far I got to that ad,
and it hooked me. Now why would a California girl be looking for a job this far
from home?” He leaned back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair as he
swiveled from side to side.

Well, she could establish one point quite quickly:
boys became men when they grew up and girls became women. “Actually, I’m not a
California girl, Mr. Auburn.” She kept her tone polite. “I’m a woman who was
born in California.”

His eyes narrowed at the gentle correction.

She went on. “I’m on leave from my job, exploring
Texas, and I saw your job advertisement.” She paused, smiled, and gave his
words back to him. “And it hooked me. The short days and hours seemed
tailor-made, as well as the fact that the position is temporary. I thought if I
found a good match here, I could extend my time. So far, I like what I see of
your part of the country.”

His silence lingered, which was a tactic that might
cause one to fidget, but she didn’t. Instead she returned his scrutiny,
studying him as openly as he studied her.

“Well, that’s half an answer,” he said evenly. “Now
for the other half. What made you choose to explore Texas in the first place?”

Okay, good question, though she’d hoped to avoid it.
But she’d planned on the truth—as much of it as she was willing to impart.

“My mother was born and raised here. I wanted to see
a little bit of the state because of her.”

“I see. Did she make the trip with you?”

“No, uh, she...I—” She swallowed hard. “I...lost her
recently, to a lingering illness.”

She’d opened the door to that question; why hadn’t
she anticipated it?

Miles twisted his chair around to gaze at the patio,
possibly to give her time. Lainie also looked outside as she tried to will her
composure into returning. She studied a hummingbird hovering at a feeder.

“Excuse me,” she said, voice steadier, and looked
again at the man behind the desk. Still feeling raw inside, she clasped her
hands tightly in her lap. One comment, one remark, and there went her poise.

He faced her. “I’m sorry. For your loss, and for
reminding you of it.”

“Thank you,” she said formally. This trip wasn’t a
good idea. She shouldn’t be here.

When Miles again averted his gaze to the patio,
Lainie hoped he was ready to dismiss her. The sooner she got out of here, the
better. But as she watched him a speech formed in her mind:
Her name was
Elizabeth Auburn Johnson, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s a portrait of her
hanging above the fireplace over there.

She wished she had the courage to say it aloud, but
feared she didn’t have the emotional strength right now to withstand the storm
that declaration would undoubtedly evoke. This man and her mother had made
their break a long time ago, and it was probably best it remain that way.

Intending to end the interview herself, she made a
move to rise. But he turned back, beating her to the punch.

“I like what I see in you, Miss Johnson. You’re
recovering from a painful loss, but you’ve got poise and a sureness I admire,
and you’re not afraid to take a chance. May I call you Lainie?”

She sat back. “Yes...of course.”

“And my name is Miles.” He looked beyond her,
indicating with a nod the smaller desk at the opposite end of the room. “That’s
where you’ll be working. As the ad indicated—” He looked back at her. “Is
something wrong?”

“That’s where...I’ll be working?”

“Yes, the job is yours. Unless you’ve changed your
mind.” He paused. “You do want the job, don’t you, Lainie?”

“Yes, I do,” she heard herself say, and realized
that was true. She felt as if she were at the end of a pendulum, swinging to
and fro with no control. She’d traveled fifteen hundred miles to meet this man,
backed off when her emotions got the best of her, and now she was swinging back
the other way and actually considering working for him. “But I didn’t think I
had a chance.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, yours was the most
interesting response I got to that ad. And I like what I see. Now, do you need
time to think about it, or shall we get down to particulars?” He looked at
ease, even amused. His eyes had a greenish-brown cast, similar to Elizabeth’s,
but lighter in color.

“No, I don’t need to think about it,” she said, throwing
caution aside. Which she’d already done when she’d turned south on Highway Five
in the first place. “We can talk particulars.” She couldn’t help smiling at the
phrase she’d so often heard her mother use.

“Good.” Leaning back in his chair, he formed a steeple
with his fingers. His manner seemed easy, yet his eyes were alert and focused.
Southern-gentleman friendly on the outside and shrewd inside. She warned
herself not to underestimate him.

“You can choose your own days and time frame,” he
said, “except for Sundays. I’m not particularly a religious man, but if the
Good Lord saw fit to take Sunday off, then so will I and the people who work
for me.”

She nodded, then quickly nodded again when he got to
salary and benefits. He was more than fair, especially considering room and
board were part of the deal. “Rosalie’s got a set of rooms in the big house,
and we can do the same for you. She’s my housekeeper and cook. She just showed
you in here. A guest house is also available if you want it.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate having my own space.”

“Do you ride?”

“Horseback? Well, I’ve ridden a few times, but I’m
not an expert.”

“You’re also welcome to use the stables, if you’ve a
mind to.”

He went on, describing the job and promising to set
up meetings with the people she’d be working with. When he finally paused, she
was grateful for the chance to collect herself. Her head swirled with
information, and even more so with the thought of the huge change in her life
to which she’d just committed.

“Time for a break.” His face smoothed out as he
settled back in his chair. “Last time I was in the kitchen, I spied a coconut
cake that made my mouth water. Want to try a piece with me?”

“Thank you. I’m not hungry, but I’d love a cold
drink.” She opted for something she was positive was in the refrigerator. “Iced
tea would be good. With sugar, please.”

He used his desk intercom to order coffee for
himself, sweet tea for Lainie. “And a couple slabs of that coconut cake,
Rosalie.”

Replacing the phone receiver, he grinned. “Ordered two
anyway ’cause we’re only going to get one. Young Doc Talbot cut back on my
desserts. Got these new-fangled notions about blood pressure and nutrition. And
Rosalie, bless her heart, paid attention. She’ll substitute a couple fat-free
cookies for me, but what I want is that cake.”

He paused, lost the smile, and glanced back at the
intercom. “No, I don’t want the cake. Or the coffee. What I really want is
whiskey and branch water, but he also severely limited that.” When he looked
up, the grin returned. “But don’t tell him so. He doesn’t know all he did was
cut it back. He thought he cut it out.”

Lainie wasn’t surprised Miles resisted limits being
placed upon him, and was impressed he’d compromised on the issue instead of
ignoring it. She’d also noted the respect he harbored for Rosalie. He might
find ways to work around her, but wouldn’t outright buck her.

An instant after she heard a rap on the hall door,
it opened. Rosalie entered without being bidden, bearing a tray laden with
coffee, iced tea, a plate of cookies and one with a generous slice of cake on
it. She wore her dark hair smoothed back and pinned up, and as she crossed the
room, Lainie sensed a regal bearing in her that would brook no nonsense, not
from Miles or anyone else.

The housekeeper had barely closed the door behind
her when Lainie impulsively reached for the plate of cake at the same moment
Miles did. Because of his surprise, she got it.

“Thank you,” she said graciously. “I hadn’t realized
I wanted this, but it looks good.” She forked a piece and brought it to her
mouth, more curious than concerned about how he’d react.

He sat back and watched her for a long moment. “So
you don’t appreciate being used as my means to an end.” His voice and face held
little expression, but she thought she caught a note of admiration.

“Not very much,” she agreed, and ate more cake. He
was the employer, she the employee, and she’d bested him before she’d even
started the job. She was amazed at her own nerve.

He nodded soberly. “Score one for the California
girl.”

She broke into a laugh and choked on the cake.

Once the interview concluded, Lainie stood, looked
casually at the fireplace and the portraits, then walked over. One was of her
mother, as she’d guessed.

Elizabeth had been twenty when Lainie was born, so must’ve
been in her late teens when this portrait was painted. Her hazel eyes were full
of life, and her golden-brown hair flowed in waves to her shoulders. She was a
striking picture of youth and vitality. Before the years of stress and strain
and the ravages of disease had taken their toll, her mother had been a lovely
woman. Lainie swallowed, working to make her face impassive.