Two to Wrangle (5 page)

“Seven and a half,” Monica said.

“I'm an eight. You can wear some thick socks. Looks like I've got you covered in that department. I probably have some jeans you can borrow too.” She eyed Monica with drawn brows. “What are you, about a six?”

“Six or eight, depending on the designer,” Monica said.

“The only designer 'round these parts is Wrangler. I still have a pair or two from my skinnier days that might fit you. I think you'll be a lot more comfortable out here in the right clothes.”

“You're probably right about that,” Monica said. “But I hate to trouble you . . .”

“It's no trouble at all,” Delaney reassured her. “My place is only fifteen minutes down the road if you'd like to give them a try. Otherwise, the nearest place to buy anything is going to be an hour away.”

Monica chewed her lip. Although she hated to be indebted to Ty's ex, she didn't have the time or inclination for shopping. She also didn't want to give Ty any excuse to leave her behind when he rode down to the river. “Thanks, Delaney,” she replied with a smile. “I accept the offer.”

“What the devil?” Ty muttered under his breath. Gazing out Tom's office window, he spotted Monica and Delaney looking like bosom buddies as they climbed into Delaney's gleaming-white Escalade. He watched gape-mouthed as, wheels spinning and kicking up a spray of loose gravel, lead-footed Delaney turned and pulled out of the drive, leaving a long trail of dust in her wake. He had no idea what they could be up to—besides no good.

Shaking his head in bafflement, he turned back to Bob. “So what you're sayin' is that I may have controlling interest of the hotel, but Monica still holds all the purse strings. What the hell good does that do me?” His prayer to finally have control of the hotel and a chance to fulfill his dream had been answered, but he still needed money.

“How about investors?” Bob asked.

“Tried that already,” Ty grunted.

“And?” Bob prompted.

“I found one. He came through with enough to buy Monica out, but not enough for the renovations.” Ty wasn't about to mention Delaney's insane proposal.

“Tom also willed you the ranch, Tyrone.”

Ty blinked. “The Circle B is mine?”

“It took Monica by surprise too, not that she begrudges you. She said she has no interest in it and the ranch should rightfully be yours. Any idea what your plans might be for the place?” Bob asked.

“Hell, I dunno.” Ty sighed. His head was still spinning after hearing the particulars of Tom's will. “I need some time to digest all this.”

“Course you do,” Bob said. “You and Monica both have some big decisions to make.”

Although he had a one-in-a-million opportunity, Ty didn't have a clue what his next move should be. In the past seven years when he'd overseen the operations for Brandt Morgan Entertainment, he'd never imagined he'd one day find himself in the CEO chair. He was never more afraid of screwing up. With so much on the line, his inexperience scared him shitless.

He knew that his talents lay in managing the people, not the finances. Tom had known that too. That's why he'd tried so hard to get Monica and Ty to work together. The terms of Tom's will still bound them—unless Monica sold her share of the business. Somehow, he had to convince her not to sell, not just because he needed a savvy partner he could trust, but because he needed
her
.

 

“Were you raised here in Oklahoma?” Monica asked Delaney.

She already knew the answer, having heard the story from both Ty and Gabby, but she was eager to establish some neutral, if trite, conversational ground.

“No,” Delaney replied with a proud tilt of her chin. “I'm a Hous-tonian, born and bred. My great-great-granddaddy even fought beside Sam Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto.”

“Really? What brought you to Oklahoma?”

“A mistake,” Delaney quipped, “but one I've learned to live with.” She slanted Monica a sidelong look. “Or maybe I should have said live without.”

Ty Morgan.

“Rural Oklahoma must be a far cry from Houston,” Monica said.

“It is, but I love the ranching life,” Delaney said.

“Did your family have a ranch?”

“My daddy owns several cattle operations; most everyone in Texas with money has a hobby ranch, but I didn't grow up on one. Mama's a socialite and hated the place, so I was hardly even allowed to visit. I always envied my brothers. They got to spent all their free time out there, doing as they pleased, while I had no freedom at all. This is it. Home sweet home.” She nodded to a gated gravel drive and then made the turn.

The property bore little similarity to Tom's other than what seemed like miles of fenced, manure-dotted pastures. The houses couldn't be more different. While Tom's place was a sprawling, Spanish-style hacienda, Ty's family homestead was a modest two-story white clapboard with a wraparound porch.

“How old is this place?” Monica asked, noting the old-style chimneys.

“I think it dates back to the twenties,” Delaney said. “But Ty knows exactly since his great-granddaddy originally homesteaded it.”

“And you live all the way out here by yourself?” Monica asked.

“Yeah,” Delaney grinned.

“How?”

Delaney's brow wrinkled. “ 'Scuse me?”

“How can you stand being out here alone after living in Houston? Aren't you bored out of your mind?”

“The first few years were really rough,” Delaney confessed. “But then it all sorta clicked when I decided to make a go of raising bulls.”

“You raise cattle?”

“I raise bucking bulls,” Delaney corrected. “Good ones.” Her smile stretched. “And it eats Ty alive. Ty used to be a rodeo stock contractor, but he always preferred to be in the arena with the bulls. He was reckless as hell when he was younger. I always wondered if he had a subconscious death wish.”

“Wasn't his father killed by a bull?” Monica asked.

“Yeah, he was.” Delaney shrugged “So go figure. C'mon in and make yourself at home.”

Monica followed Delaney inside, noting that she hadn't even unlocked the front door. She thought back to her own place in Manhattan with its set of three locks and a security system.

“Would you like a drink?” Delaney asked. “I have some Dr. Pepper, a six-pack of Blue Moon, or I could open a bottle of pinot noir I've been saving for a special occasion.”

“What's special?” Monica asked.

“Having female company out here. It's been a while.”

“No thanks,” Monica said. “I'm not really thirsty.”

“Well, I am.” Delaney disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Monica to wander the living room. Markedly more feminine than Tom's place, with a mix of leather, chintz, and chenille, the room was an unusual meld of rustic ranch and French country. Finding no photographs, she lingered at a lithograph of a bull. “This is unusual,” she remarked as Delaney returned, popping the top of a Dr. Pepper. “Is it a Picasso?”

“You know your art,” Delaney said.

“I've spent most of my life in New York. Part of that was exploring art museums.”

“I have all eleven lithographs of his bull study,” Delaney said, “though I admit I prefer the first three in the series over the more abstract works.” She took the first swig of her drink. “Love this stuff. All Texans do. Sure you don't want one?”

“No thanks. I'm fine.”

Delaney took another drink and then set the bottle down on a scarred coffee table. “I'd be happy to show you the rest of the place, if you like.”

“It's a lovely old house,” Monica said as they mounted the narrow staircase. “Very homey. I've never lived in a place like this. I've pretty much spent all of my life in apartments.”

“Where did you grow up?” Delaney asked.

“Boarding schools mostly,” Monica said with a dry laugh, “but I also traveled a lot too, mostly in Europe.”

“I envy you that,” Delaney said. “My family took vacations every year, usually in Mexico or Hawaii, but I've never traveled anywhere on my own. I've always wanted to go to Europe, but Daddy always said we have everything worth seeing right here in the USA. Where is your family?” Delaney asked.

“My grandparents have a big home in Connecticut, but my mother lives in lower Manhattan. I settled there as well about five years ago.”

“These two are bedrooms,” Delaney pointed to the respective doors. “There was a third, but we converted it into two bathrooms as there weren't originally any upstairs baths and there was only the one downstairs until I added a powder room.”

Monica shrugged. “I imagine that's typical of a home this old.”

“I told Ty when we first moved in that we should just raze the place and build a brand-new house, but he wouldn't hear of it,” Delaney said. “His family worked the land for three generations and even weathered the great Dust Bowl. I guess I respect that he has an attachment to the place even if he didn't want to live in it.”

“Sounds like his family history means a lot to him,” Monica said. That surprised her at first, but then it made perfect sense. It explained why Ty held onto the place, even though Delaney had control of it.

“Over time the old place has grown on me too,” Delaney continued. “Let's go back down to my room, and I'll see if I can find those jeans.” Delaney disappeared into her closet and returned a few minutes later to toss Monica a pair of well-worn Wranglers. “Here. These were always my favorite.” She added with a grimace. “But I haven't been able to get both cheeks into them in almost five years.”

“Then why do you keep them?” Monica asked.

Delaney laughed. “Wishful thinking, I guess. Don't worry about the length. They're about two inches too long for me, so they should fit you just about right.”

“Thanks.” Monica accepted the jeans. “Delaney, is this the only reason you invited me out here? I get the feeling it isn't.”

Delaney cocked her head and considered Monica for a long moment. “All right, since you asked me, I'll give it to you straight. I suspect we're never going to be best friends, but I don't want us to be enemies either.”

“What are you getting at?” Monica asked.

“Ty's not drinking like he used to, but based on his lifestyle, I don't have any reason to think he's changed. I'd hate to see you get hurt too.”

“I don't understand why you're concerned about it,” Monica replied. “Look, I'm only here to lay my father to rest. After that, Ty and I will probably never see each other again. Why are you interested? What do you want from him, Delaney?”

“I need something from him. So I need to ask you straight out if you're staking your claim.”

“I don't mean to be rude, but what's between me and Ty is no one else's business.”

“It's not that I want Ty back,” Delaney said. “It was a mistake the first time around. We both know that. The whole thing was pure lust.” She hesitated, digging the carpet fringe with the toe of her boot. “Maybe I could have loved him if he'd only tried just a little bit. Even at his worst, Ty is impossible to hate, but he never invested anything in the relationship.”

“Then why did you marry him?” Monica asked, more curious than ever to reconcile Ty's version of the story with Delaney's.

Delaney plopped down on the edge of the queen four-poster bed with a sigh. “Because I was desperate to get out from under my controlling family when I met Ty. For as long as I can remember, someone was always telling me how to dress, how to act, and even what to think. I was raised to be the perfect little Houston debutante. I wasn't free to make even the simplest decisions for myself. All that mattered was the outer package. No one really cared about me. Ty, on the other hand, didn't give damn about any of those trappings.”

“No, I don't suppose he would,” Monica said.

“Ty was everything my parents would hate—the perfect antidote to my horrible life,” Delaney continued. “He was also my first . . . but he didn't know that until after the fact.”

“Really? And how did he take it when he found out?” Monica asked.

“He felt guilty as hell.”

“And you used it against him?” Monica asked.

“More or less. I talked him into eloping.”

“It was that easy?”

Delaney returned a wistful smile. “Yeah, it was. We couldn't keep our hands off each other back then. That part was good, but it didn't last very long.” She paused. “I don't believe Ty ever
intended
to hurt me, but Ty likes women. A lot. And they've always liked him back.”