Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
R y dozed fitfully while leaning against the granite face of the cliff.
The rock retained heat from the sun that had bathed it during the day, and the warmth soothed his stiff shoulders.
An owl hooting in the gray light of dawn brought him awake, and he glanced across the embers of the campfire to where Freddy lay with her boots still on, her gun within reach.
The owl hadn’t disturbed her sleep, probably because she was used to the sounds of wildlife in the desert.
Her hair had come free of the clip and lay spread over her outstretched arm, her lips were parted, her expression relaxed and open. He used to love watching Linda sleep, because it was one of the moments when he glimpsed her soft, vulnerable side. The other was when they were making love.
Linda . She would have hated this trail ride, he realized with a smile.
Born and bred to big-city life, she’d barely tolerated outdoor cafés, let alone picnics.
Freddy, on the other hand, would feel imprisoned in an office, flail her wings against the walls of a hotel room.
In that way, the two women were total opposites, and yet Freddy had that same iron will that had drawn him to Linda.
And rarer still, the same sense of fair play.
She hadn’t been able to pull off her diabolical scheme without confessing, without trying to right the wrong she’d done.
She could have pushed her plan to the limit, and without the whiskey and horse liniment, he might have checked out of the True Love today and never looked back.
He was still tempted to give up the whole crazy idea.
God, he hurt. He’d become used to the smell of the liniment, but even the slightest movement was agony.
Walking the entire trail sounded like torture, but the prospect of riding down wasn’t much of an improvement.
Freddy deserved every pang of conscience that pricked her, he decided.
But whenever he started plotting revenge, he reminded himself that she’d done him a favor without realizing it.
Tough though the journey had been, he treasured his first view of the valley, a view he wouldn’t have enjoyed without Freddy’s scheming.
He wouldn’t have slept outside and seen the stars spread over the night sky like fairy dust, or been given a new name, a name that seemed to fit as well and gave him as much confidence as Duane’s boots.
If Freddy hadn’t tricked him, he wouldn’t have awakened to the hoot of an owl and breathed cool morning air, a mixture of evergreen and charred cedar smoke that stirred him more than the most exotic perfume sold on Fifth Avenue.
He wanted a piece of this land, the right to gaze up at a sky so clear it hurt his eyes, to sit by a smoldering camp fire and watch the pink glow of dawn creep over the valley, his valley.
And Joe’s, of course. Maybe even Lavette’s.
They would sell the True Love eventually because it would be stupid not to. But maybe he’d use the money to buy another piece of the West and play the game all over again.
The owl hooted again. Ry looked up through the twisted branches of a cedar and saw the almond glow of a pair of eyes. For a few seconds, he met the owl’s unblinking gaze. Then, with a heavy flap of wings, the bird lifted above the tree line and soared out over the valley.
“Are you superstitious?”
Ry glanced across the dying fire and saw Freddy lying on her bedroll watching him. “No.”
“Some people think owls are a bad omen.”
“Too bad for the owls.”
“Have you heard about the curse on the True Love?”
He groaned. “Is this phase two of Get the Greenhorn?”
“I suppose you could say that. But if you’re considering buying the place, you should know about all the skeletons in the closet, don’t you think?”
“Are you making it up as you go, or is this a genuine, certified curse?”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “Okay, I deserved that. But the story has been told around campfires since Thaddeus homesteaded the ranch. Do you want to hear it or not?”
“Guess I’d better.”
Freddy lay back on her bedroll and gazed up at the pink sky.
“The story goes that a small tribe of indigenous people was massacred on the site where the corrals now stand. A unit of cavalry swept in and killed a village of unarmed women and children when the men were off hunting. Afterward, when the men of the tribe returned, they put a curse on the land and said no white man would ever profit from it.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t stage a little massacre of their own.”
“They tried, but the cavalry handled them easily. It wasn’t one of our finer moments in history.”
Ry decided he’d keep that story away from any potential buyers, including his partners.
It wasn’t a pretty tale, and besides, investors became uneasy when you talked about loss of profit, even if it was connected to something as goofy as a century-old curse.
“Seems to me Thaddeus knocked the heck out of that prediction.”
“Not really.” Freddy laced her hands behind her head, a movement that lifted and defined her breasts.
Ry noticed and chastised himself. Freddy would be his foreman, and he’d known too many businessmen who’d ruined an employer-employee relationship by bringing personal attraction into it. “I thought you said Thaddeus owned three hundred and twenty acres before he died.”
“Owned is a relative term. He controlled three hundred and twenty acres, but he was in debt. That’s been the story all down the line. In terms of having money left over, making what I would call a profit, nobody’s done it yet.”
“Not even your father?”
“Especially not my father. After my mother died, he spent more time rodeoing than running the ranch. If it hadn’t been for Belinda and Dexter, who knows what would have happened to the place.”
Ry heard a familiar note in her voice, the same note of frustration he’d felt when his parents divorced and his world had been torn apart. “When did she die?”
“I was fourteen, Leigh was ten.”
“That’s rough.”
She looked over at him. “Lots of kids have it worse. At least I had a horse of my own and plenty of space to ride. Dexter let me go on the roundups, and I could ride a bronc as well as any of the hands.”
“I’ll bet you still can.”
She grinned. “There’s nothing like a good bucking horse to put life into proper perspective.
” Then her smile faded as she gazed at him.
“The True Love is great for making you forget your troubles, but I wouldn’t say it’s a financial gold mine.
That’s why Westridge is selling, and all they’re after is what they put into it.
I could get in trouble for telling you that, but I could get in trouble for this whole stunt, I suppose. ”
“You’re right, you could,” he said with a straight face. “You should never have admitted a thing, Miss Singleton. I probably have the power to get you fired.”
She didn’t flinch. He imagined she wore the same look that gunslingers used in the Old West to face down their opponents. “I reckon you have that power,” she said evenly. “And probably the right, too.”
“You’re a fearless woman, Freddy Singleton.”
A corner of her mouth turned up. “Just what I wanted you to think.”
Damn, but he liked her. “I won’t turn you in.
For one thing, it’s no secret that the property’s price can be negotiated downward.
I’ve studied the profit and loss statements.
The resorts built recently in Tucson have hurt business and I know Westridge has a cash-flow problem and is eager to sell.
By the way, do they know about this so-called curse? ”
“No, not really. They just think the ranch is falling apart from age, which it probably is.”
“Do you think it’s cursed?”
She shook her head. “I’d planned to tell you I did, to help scare you off, but I think we’ve just had a run of bad luck.”
“If it reduces the asking price, it’s good luck for me. All I have to offer is enough to squeeze out Whitlock.”
“I see.” Her gaze hardened. “Somehow, when you’re hobbling around a campfire without your pants, I forget that you’re a shark in the business world.”
She was quick. He liked that, too. “I wouldn’t be name-calling after the trick you pulled on me yesterday,” he said. “Shall we just agree that we’re fighters, and we can both be ruthless when it comes to getting what we want?”
She studied him, seeming to take his measure as he was taking hers. “Ruthless is a harsh word. How about determined?”
“Determined works.”
The smile she gave him, fresh as the morning, made his heart ratchet in his chest. “It’s a beautiful day,” she said. “The birds are singing and the sky is clear. What do you say we call a truce?”
He’d never been at war, but she did seem to perceive him as the enemy. “Okay. Truce.”
Breakfast was coffee and biscuits, which Ry wolfed down with an appetite that astounded him.
Somehow he pulled on his jeans and boots without help from Freddy.
With luck, they wouldn’t have any more intimate encounters like the one with the Bag Balm.
He suspected there was some powerful chemistry at work if he could get aroused in the midst of all that pain.
Once he’d looked down and seen her head practically in his lap and caught a glimpse of her supple fingers at work, the power of suggestion had made him instantly hard as a rock.
Since then, he’d had stirrings in that direction, but he’d kept a rein on his imagination.
He gave her as much help as he could breaking up camp.
Moving around was painful, but exercise helped work the stiffness out of his legs.
They used the last of their water on the fire and smothered any remaining embers in sand.
Freddy paid more attention to putting out the fire than any of the other leave-taking chores.
“No hydrants up here,” she said. “Lightning starts enough fires without people adding to the danger.”
“Have you had many fires?”