Return to Oak Valley (51 page)

At the moment, with the exception of a chaste twin bed, a battery-run lamp, an oak end table, a portable CD player, and a new side-by-side almond-colored refrigerator/freezer that had been set up to run on propane, the place was empty. The kitchen consisted of a stainless sink, propane stove, and a couple of metal cabinets shoved against the north wall of the cabin. Her nose wrinkled. Marijuana growers apparently didn't do much cooking.

Of course, she reminded herself, it hadn't been
proven
that the former owner, Dirk Aston, had really been a marijuana grower—that had merely been the conclusion of the valley residents. How else, they had asked, did someone unemployed and with no outside income earn enough money to live up there all by himself ? And what about that new truck he drove? Where did the money to buy it come from? And why did he have those two greenhouses and black plastic piping running all over the place? Don't tell me he wasn't growing dope! When she argued that if his profession was so obvious that surely he would have been busted and the property confiscated, the sages had looked wise. Dirk was smalltime, they'd said. Not big enough for CAMP and the DA's Office to go after, they'd said. Lots of guys like Dirk around, they'd said. Sheriff's Office knew who they were, but there were worse offenses than growing a little marijuana to keep them occupied. Sheriff's Office might harass guys like Dirk now and then, but no one took them seriously—bigger, more important fish to fry.

Roxanne didn't doubt that the valley had the correct reading of the situation, but it hadn't deterred her. In fact, if Jeb Delaney had kept his big mouth shut and hadn't warned her
not
to buy the property, she'd probably have gone looking for a different piece of land to buy. Probably. She grinned. But probably not. She
loved
this place. It was isolated, yet town was only about three miles down a dusty, twisting gravel road that took at least twenty minutes to traverse—in good weather. Her nearest neighbor was a couple of heavily forested miles away, and after the packed, surging humanity of New York, it was a great feeling to know that she could walk stark naked out her own back door and yodel at the moon, and no one would see or hear her. Not that she was going to do that. But she could. If she wanted.

Grinning to herself, Roxanne walked inside the cabin. Crossing to the new refrigerator, she took out a bottle of water and, after twisting off the cap, wandered out the back door of the cabin. It opened onto a small deck, too, this one covered, and she had a charming view of a small, meandering meadow before the ground rose, and forested hillside met her gaze. Like many places in the country, the rear of the cabin was both the entrance and the back door. It had always struck her as strange to drive up to the back of a house, until she took in the fact that the front had the views and no one in her right mind would sacrifice view for a front yard or driveway. The much-speculated-about greenhouses were situated to the south of the cabin, and, sipping her bottled water, she had just started to amble in that direction when the sound of an approaching vehicle caught her ear.

She wasn't expecting anyone, and, puzzled, she turned back to walk over to the wide gravel area where her own jaunty, rag-topped Jeep was parked. A second later, a red truck, a one-ton dually, roared up the last incline and stopped in a cloud of dust.

Recognizing the truck and the very tall, very big man who stepped out of it, her spine stiffened, and her fingers tightened around the bottle of water. Jeb Delaney. Absolutely the last person she wanted to see.

Like lord of all he surveyed, he strolled over to where she stood. Roxanne once surmised that the commanding air about him came from his job—a detective with the Mendocino County Sheriff's Office. There was a sense of leashed power about him, like a big, lethal tiger on a leather lead, but even she had concluded that it was nothing he did on purpose, it was just…Jeb.

Most people liked Jeb Delaney. Old ladies doted on him; young women swooned when he smiled at them; men admired him, and young boys wanted to grow up to be just like him. Just about everybody thought he was a great guy. Roxanne was not among them. He rubbed her the wrong way, and he always had. She couldn't be in his presence for more than five minutes before she was thinking of ways to knock his block off. She could never put her finger on just why he irritated her. She liked people—she couldn't have been the success she was if she hadn't. But Jeb Delaney…Jeb Delaney set her teeth on edge and made the hair on the back of her neck rise…and, a small voice nagged, excites you more than any man you've ever met in your life.

A big man, he stood six-foot-five and had the shoulders and chest to match. His arms were muscled beneath his plain blue chambray shirt, and the tight, faded blue jeans he was wearing fit his lean hips and powerful thighs like a second skin. Sunglasses, dusty black boots, and a wide-brimmed black Stetson completed his garb.

Watching him with all the enthusiasm she would have an invasion of rattlesnakes, Roxanne demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Jeb stopped about two feet from her and removed his sunglasses. His handsome face was expressionless as his gaze roamed over her, taking in the long, long tanned legs revealed by her pink-striped shorts and the firm breasts only half-hidden by the cut of her white halter top. There had been a few times in her career, not many, that she had posed nude, but she had never felt so very
naked
as she did at that very moment, with Jeb Delaney's knowing black eyes moving over her.

Her lips tightened. “I repeat: What are you doing here?”

“Just being neighborly?” he offered with a quirk of his brow.

She snorted. “Jeb, you live on the opposite side of the valley. Neighbors we're not.”

He rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, I guess not.” He looked around. “Seems an odd place for you to buy.”

“And that's your business because…?”

Jeb sighed and pushed back his black Stetson. “Are you always so prickly with everyone, or is it just me?”

She smiled sweetly. “Just you—I like everybody else.”

He grinned, white teeth flashing beneath his heavy black mustache. It made him look like a brigand, a very, very attractive brigand, and Roxanne didn't like the way her heart leaped at the sight of that grin. The jerk.

Her foot tapped. “Are you going to tell me what you're doing here, or are we going to spend the morning exchanging insults?”

“Princess, I haven't insulted you…yet. You just keep tossing those smart remarks out of that pretty mouth of yours, and I might just have to do something about it.'' His gaze fastened on her mouth, and something dark and powerful leaped in the air between them. Then Jeb seemed to shake himself and take a breath. “Look,” he said quietly, “I just wanted to see if the gossips were right about you buying this place—especially after I told you that it wasn't a good idea. Thought I'd take a drive up here and check it out. Since you're here, I guess this is one time that the valley gossip was right on the mark.”

She was being rude. She knew it. She hated herself for doing it, but she just couldn't seem to stop. Looking down at her pink-painted toes in the flip-flops, she made the supreme effort, and muttered, “The gossips are right. I did buy it.”

“Why? Like I said, this sure isn't the kind of place one would expect the exalted Roxanne of fame and fortune to buy. Now a mansion in San Francisco, where you could invite all your famous friends and hold wild bashes, yeah, I could see that. But here? A dead dope grower's digs in the middle of nowhere? Don't tell me you're thinking of turning your hand to growing a little marijuana on the side?” Coolly, he added, “Not your style, Princess.”

She'd tried. She really had. OK, not much, but she'd made the effort, and what did she get for her efforts? Disparaging remarks and insults. “Is this an official inquiry?” she asked tightly. “Otherwise, my reasons are my own, and I don't have to share them with you. In fact, get off my property.”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You know, someday, someone is going to teach you some manners.”

Her lip curled. “You volunteering?”

His gaze swept over her. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Maybe.”

He swung on his heels and climbed into the truck. The engine snarled to life, and, with more force than necessary, he spun the vehicle around and nosed it down the hill.

For several minutes after he'd left, Roxanne stood there staring at nothing. What the hell was the matter with her? With anyone else, she would have offered a smile, refreshments, and the hand of friendship. She bit her lip. So why not with Jeb?
Because I'm a bitch? Nah. Because he's a jerk.
Pleased with her conclusion, she headed for the greenhouses.

It was only ten o'clock in the morning, but already the heat was savage—by noon, every living thing, plant and animal alike, would be gasping for relief—relief that wouldn”t come until the sun set. Despite her brief apparel, Roxanne still felt the heat and after walking a couple of hundred feet to the greenhouses decided she'd put off investigating them until early tomorrow morning. Before it got hot. She grimaced. Yeah. Right.

She started back to the cabin when a rustling in the heavy brush to her right had her freezing in her steps. Visions of bears and cougars leaped to her mind—she knew the area abounded with them—and she cursed herself for not carrying some sort of weapon. Even a big stick would have been a comfort at the moment. Trying to remember everything she'd ever known about confronting a bear or a mountain lion, she faced the direction of the noise and edged backward toward the cabin.

The noise grew fearsome and just when she was certain she couldn't stand the suspense any longer, a horse and rider, followed by three dusty black-and-white cow dogs, burst into view.

Recognizing the wiry rider, a battered beige cowboy hat on his head, Roxanne's heartbeat slowed to normal, and a welcoming smile lit her face. “Acey Babbitt!” she exclaimed. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I was certain that a bear had me in mind for breakfast.”

Acey grinned, blue eyes bright in his sun-worn face. “And a tasty meal you would have made.” Beneath an impressive pair of white handlebar mustaches, he smacked his lips. “Yes, ma'am, you do look good enough to eat—even to an old cow-poke like me.”

She chuckled. “Why, Mr. Babbitt, are you putting the moves on little ole me?”

“Might…if I were twenty years younger and you were twenty years older,” he said wriggling his bushy white eyebrows. “Of course, if you don't mind a fellow who creaks when he walks, I'd sure be still willing to give it a try.”

Roxanne laughed again, not at all fooled by his abjectly hopeful expression. Acey Babbitt was seventy-five years old if he was a day and one of the dearest men Roxanne had ever known—and one of the biggest teases. His prowess with cattle and horses alike was legendary, and throughout his long career, at one time or another he had worked for just about every ranch in the valley, including the Ballingers. Just about every kid in the valley, including herself and her siblings, had learned to ride under Acey's gentle but steely guidance. And while he may have worked for others, his first loyalty had always been to the Grangers, and she knew that he was currently living on the Granger place, working for Shelly, Sloan's wife.

“OK, enough lecherous talk—you've convinced me that you're hell on wheels,” she said with a smile. “What brings you out here?”

Acey made a face. “One of them fine expensive cows that Shelly brought out from Texas is due to calve and danged if she didn't find the only break in a fence for miles around. We discovered it last night about dark. Wasn't much we could do about it then, but Nick and I have been out since before daybreak trying to track her down.”

Roxanne frowned. “Wouldn't she head for gentler ground? Toward the valley? My place is so rough, I'm certain goats would turn up their noses at it, let alone a cow ready to calve.”

“Don't want to hurt your feelings none, but you're right about that—this has to be some of the roughest ground I've ridden in many a day, and I didn't really have much hope of finding her. We figured right off that she'd head down to the valley, but we didn't find any tracks leading in that direction. For the last hour or two, we've been working up and down the ridge, hoping to see sign of her. No such luck so far.”

“Well, I'll keep my eye open, but I don't think she'll come this way.”

“If you do see her, just give the house a call.” He paused. “You got a phone out here?”

“Cell phone. The magic of modern technology.”

He glanced around. “I heard you'd bought the Aston place. Couldn't hardly believe it.” His sharp blue eyes came back to her. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Not grow marijuana,” she snapped, her green eyes glittering.

Acey held up a hand. “All right. All right. I just had to pry some.” He bent his gaze on her. “You've been gone a long time, Roxy. Lived in New York and all them other fancy places. You were always too damned pretty for your own good, but you were also always a good kid. I figure you still are, but there are some folks who are a bit more suspicious. Lots of talk in the valley about what you're gonna do up here.” He smiled at her. “Glad I'll be able to put their minds at rest.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, astounded. “People really think I came home from New York to grow marijuana?”

Acey pulled on his ear. “No one with any sense…but you know, we got a few poor souls in the valley that got shortchanged in life—they have more chicken feathers in their heads than brains. Don't let it bother you none.”

“Did you know Dirk Aston?”

“Not real well. And no, I don't know if he grew marijuana up here or not. Wasn't none of my business. If you're real curious, you might talk to Jeb. I know he's a detective these days and isn't doing patrol, but he knows more about what goes on in these hills than just about anyone else.” Acey wiggled his brows. “Except for maybe me. All kidding aside, you should talk to Jeb. He's a good man. A good deputy.”

“Could we please talk about something else besides how wonderful Deputy Delaney is—I just ate.”

Acey shrugged, but there was a little gleam in his eyes. “Sure. Anything else you want to know before I slope off?”