Chapter 3
Chapter Three
H e has New York written all over him , Freddy thought as she took in the pallor of his skin from being indoors too much, the sophisticated cut of his thick brown hair, the bold red-and-blue stripes of his power tie.
But his blue-eyed gaze was direct, his smile friendly, even a little sexy.
She almost regretted what she was about to do to him. Almost.
“I understand you want to inspect the ranch,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“The best way to see the True Love is from the back of a horse. Can you ride?”
“Yes.”
She could just imagine. A little tour around Central Park on a Sunday afternoon, perhaps.
But she was glad he’d likely done that much.
If he’d never ridden at all, she’d have a tougher time instituting her plan.
She surveyed his pristine white shirt and gray herringbone slacks and tried to keep the smile from her voice.
“Did you bring anything besides that sort of outfit?”
“No.”
Freddy had already anticipated this problem.
She dismissed Duane as being too short, but Curtis, who was mending a fence a few yards away, was about T.R.
’s height and build. She called him over.
“Think you have a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt you could loan our guest? We’re going to take a ride around the ranch. ”
“Around the ranch?” Curtis blinked.
“Yes.”
Curtis pushed back his hat and studied T.R. with new interest. “I reckon I have somethin’. What about boots?”
“Listen,” T.R. said, “I don’t think I should inconvenience?—”
“No problem,” Freddy interrupted. “What size shoe do you wear?”
“Eleven.”
Freddy lifted an eyebrow in Curtis’s direction.
He shook his head. “Tens.”
“I wear an eleven,” Duane said, bending down to pull off one scuffed boot. With no apparent reluctance, he put his sock foot — with a large hole in the toe —on the ground and held the boot out toward T.R. “Try this.”
Freddy loved it. She’d bet no one had ever shoved used footwear in T.R.
McGuinnes’s face, let alone expected him to put it on.
He might not realize what a huge favor Duane was granting him, but he was obviously a polite guy.
His natural big-city reticence carved grooves beside his mouth as he seemed to be struggling for a graceful way out of taking off his expensive wing tips and trying on the boot.
He must have come up empty, because he accepted the boot, walked over to the fence and propped a foot against the rail to untie his shoe.
Freddy considered suggesting that if the boot fit, T.R. could just trade Duane the boots for the wing tips for a few days, but she decided that might be going a bit far.
Besides, Duane wouldn’t be caught dead in city shoes like that, not even for a joke.
Duane spat a stream of tobacco in the dirt.
“My folks always said I woulda been taller if God hadn’t turned up so much for feet,” he said with a tobacco-stained grin.
“You know he’s gonna need a hat,” he added in a lower voice.
“I’m willin’ to loan out my boots ‘cause I got the others back at the bunkhouse, but I ain’t givin’ up my hat, and I don’t know any of the hands who would. ”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find something in that collection we keep for the dudes who don’t remember to bring their own.”
Duane made a face. “A man’s gotta have a decent hat.”
“Only if he decides to stay,” Freddy answered with a wink.
T.R. returned wearing Duane’s boot on one foot, his pant leg tucked inside, and his dusty wing tip. on the other. “They fit fine, but I really think?—”
“Perfect,” Freddy said, motioning for Duane to take off his other boot.
He complied and held the second boot out to T.R. Then he turned back to Freddy. “Curtis and I can go on up to the bunkhouse, pick up Curtis’s clothes for Mr. McGuinnes, here, and meet you at the ranch house in a few minutes.”
“Sounds good.” Freddy glanced back to where Leigh was standing guard over Red Devil until he came out of the anesthesia. “Let me make sure our patient is okay, Duane. Then I’ll bring Mr. McGuinnes up to the house in my truck.”
Duane looked at T.R., who was still holding the second boot. “Might as well put ‘em both on. You look kinda discombobulated like that.”
“All right.”
As Freddy watched him return to the rail to take off his other shoe, she felt another twinge of conscience.
But how else was she supposed to save the ranch from this Easterner if she didn’t make him so miserable he would never want to even think about a guest ranch in Arizona?
The market was down, so maybe Eb Whitlock could buy the True Love, and life could go on undisturbed.
She walked back toward Leigh, careful not to stir up any dust. In a few days, Red Devil would be ready for use as a saddle horse again, and a much milder-tempered saddle horse he’d be, too.
She squatted next to Leigh, who was stroking Red Devil’s neck and murmuring to him. “How’s he taking it?” Freddy asked.
“He’s still in dreamland. I’m picking up something about a little palomino filly.”
“From now on, dreaming’s all he’ll be doing about that particular activity.”
Leigh glanced at her and angled her head toward T.R., who was pulling on Duane’s other boot. “So why’s Duane giving up his boots?”
“Mr. McGuinnes needs something to ride in if he’s going to survey the ranch.”
Leigh’s eyes widened. “All the ranch?”
“Sure. I figure we’ll take a little ride around the perimeter, ending with a trip up Rogue Canyon into the leased Forest Service land, so he can see where we summer the herd.”
A slow smile tilted the corners of Leigh’s mouth. “That’s a mighty long ride.”
“I know.”
“I doubt you could even finish it today.”
“Precisely.”
“And unless he’s spent a lot of time on a horse...”
Freddy reached down and stroked Red Devil’s velvet neck. “Do you think I’m being too cruel?”
“Not if you want to get rid of him.”
“I do. And not just for our sakes, either. Belinda and Dexter are too old to deal with an Easterner, and Duane doesn’t say much, but I can tell he’s worried about keeping his job. Losing it would be the end of the world for him.”
“It would,” Leigh agreed. “You have to do it, Freddy. But maybe you should take some horse liniment. You don’t want to have to call Search and Rescue to haul him out of the canyon.”
“Great idea. If he’s like most dudes, he’ll hate the smell of the stuff, which will suit my purpose nicely. So, can you handle things until tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but you could be back sooner, depending on how much of a wimp this guy is.”
Freddy thought of McGuinnes’s firm handshake and his clear blue gaze. “No, I think we’ll be out there for the duration. He may be in pain, but he’ll tough it out.”
“Sounds like he might not deserve his fate.”
“He probably doesn’t,” Freddy acknowledged. “If I could think of any other way to keep him from buying the ranch, I’d do that, instead.” She gave Red Devil one final pat. “See you tomorrow, big guy.”
T.R. finished pulling on the second boot, took off his tie and tucked it into one of his shoes. Duane and Curtis left, and he hoped Duane remembered the sport coat in the van. Not that he was worried. A guy who would give you the boots off his feet wasn’t about to steal a jacket.
He chuckled, trying to imagine Duane wearing the navy blazer, even if he did make off with it. Duane would probably sooner be caught in a dress.
Freddy came toward him. “Ready?”
“Sure. How’s Red Devil doing?”
“Leigh says he’s dreaming of fillies.”
“Poor guy.”
Freddy smiled at him. “Unless we’re planning to stand them at stud, stallions are a liability at a guest ranch.
They’re either after the mares or trying to pick a fight, which makes them too unpredictable for a guest to ride.
The hands don’t much like putting up with their shenanigans, either.
Around here, we refer to gelding as brain surgery. ”
“Oh.” He tried to appreciate the operation from a business standpoint and failed.
“Let’s go,” she said. “My truck’s under the mesquite tree over there.”
T.R. looked at the battered white pickup with the ranch brand stenciled on the door panel. Didn’t seem like anyone was wasting money around here. He liked that.
“What did you call this kind of tree?” he asked as they walked toward the truck.
“Mesquite.”
He surveyed the stand of mesquite, gnarled trunks branching out into a canopy bursting with small, delicate leaves. “Do you sell the wood to restaurants back East? Mesquite-grilled meat is very popular where I come from.”
Her glance was not friendly. “No, we don’t sell the wood.”
“Why not?” he persisted. “Seems like you have a lot of it around.”
“The trees protect our privacy. My ancestors used to clear the mesquite to give the cattle more room, but a lot of our guests are birders, and the mesquite bosques attract birds. Besides, I don’t much like the sound of a chainsaw. It frightens the horses.”
“I see.” So economics wasn’t her top priority, after all. T.R.’s hope that a woman would be more willing to compromise on his plans for the ranch began to disappear. Once the developers finished with this land, there wouldn’t be a mesquite bosque to be found.
They reached the truck and he climbed in, dumping his shoes on the floor.
“How are the boots?” Freddy asked as she started the engine.
“Great fit.” He’d discovered he liked the boots.
With only one on, he’d felt stupid, but with both on, and his pant leg pulled over the shaft instead of tucked in, he felt like a cowboy.
He’d always made fun of city people who wore Western clothing as a style statement.
But something had happened when he’d put on the boots.
He’d walked with more purpose in his stride and had felt more in command of his world.
Maybe he’d take a taxi into town and buy some before he left.
Freddy steered the truck past the fork and down the road toward the main house.