Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
E ager to call Joe Gilardini, Ry put off his Jacuzzi and took a quick shower before changing into khaki slacks and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. As physically miserable as he’d been wearing Curtis’s and Duane’s cowboy garb, he already missed it.
A light snack had been waiting in his room when he’d arrived, probably ordered up by Freddy. She’d apparently had an attitude adjustment since her baptism in the horse trough. Much as he didn’t want a continual fight on his hands, he would miss her fiery belligerence.
He ate his food and rehearsed his pitch for bringing Joe into the partnership.
Going by the rough figures Joe had given him on the money in his pension fund, the deal could be finalized with that and with what Ry could raise.
Lavette would make things easier all the way around, but Joe was the critical part of the transaction.
Yet Joe hadn’t been willing to commit himself before Ry had left Manhattan.
Over drinks at Joe’s favorite bar, the cop had told Ry that yes, he was definitely quitting the force, but no, he wasn’t sure a guest ranch was the place to put his retirement money.
All he’d promised was that he’d have exact figures on his pension the next time they talked.
No promises, no commitment to invest the pension, but he would have the figures.
So this was it. If Joe wouldn’t go for the deal, Ry would have to start through his list of contacts until he found someone who’d put up the money.
And he’d have to do it fast, before Westridge became tired of waiting and accepted Whitlock’s puny offer.
In the past twenty-four hours, that possibility had become unacceptable to Ry.
Clearing the tension from his throat, he picked up the receiver of the phone on his bedside table and dialed an outside line.
Then he sat on the bed, an antique four-poster, while he punched in Joe’s number.
As the exchanges clicked through, he gazed out the window.
His room was at the corner of the house, with one window facing the mountains and the other looking out on the wide front porch.
Holding the receiver to his ear, he walked over to the porch window and leaned against the wall to look out.
At the far end of the porch, sitting on one of several old cane-bottomed chairs, was Dexter Grimes, his walker positioned to one side of his chair.
Next to him sat Leigh Singleton. A long-haired black-and-white dog rested at their feet, completing the Norman Rockwell portrait.
The line rang, and Joe answered quickly.
“Joe, this is Ry— T.R. McGuinnes. Have you got those figures?”
“Sure.” Joe sounded impatient. “But first tell me what the ranch is like.”
Ry closed his eyes with relief. He had no idea what had changed Joe’s thinking, but from the tone of his voice, the cop was hooked.
For the next ten minutes, Ry described the ranch house, the corrals, the horses and the ranch hands, but didn’t discuss the True Love curse.
He mentioned the John Wayne Room but omitted anything about spiders and scorpions.
He described the reservoir stocked with bass but didn’t add the story of his personal experience with the fish.
“Have you been out riding?” Joe asked.
“Some,” Ry said with a grimace. “There’s a beautiful spot above Rogue Canyon where you can see the whole valley.”
“Sounds great, just great. What’s this guy Freddy Singleton like? Think we can work with him?”
A picture of Freddy coming up out of the horse trough like Venus rising from the sea made Ry smile. “Freddy’s a woman,” he said. Is she ever.
“No joke? Probably one of those leathery old ranch gals, full of vinegar.”
His fingers still remembered the softness of her cheek, and his mouth retained the rich taste of her lips. “She’s full of vinegar, all right. But she’s not what I’d call leathery.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Are you telling me that Freddy the foreman is a babe?”
“I wouldn’t let her hear you say that, if I were you.”
“McGuinnes, you must be the luckiest SOB on the face of the earth. It’s not enough that you’re out there in God’s country. You’ve stumbled on a ranch with a beautiful woman as its foreman. I suppose she’s married, though, probably to the head wrangler or somebody like that.”
“No, the head wrangler is her sister, Leigh.”
There was a short bark of laughter. “You’re putting me on. This is beginning to sound like a fantasy beer commercial.”
“Nope. The Singleton women are very real.”
“I’m calling Lavette. This’ll settle it for him.”
“Look, Joe, the women don’t have anything to do with anything. If we buy this place, we’ll be their employers. We can’t?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Still, it beats the heck out of dealing with some grizzled old cowpoke, wouldn’t you say?”
Ry thought of all Freddy had put him through and wasn’t so sure.
A grizzled old cowpoke would have simplified this deal considerably.
“I suppose,” he agreed, mostly to get off the subject.
“We have to start putting this offer together if we want to beat out the neighbor who has already made a lowball bid. Can you give me those pension figures now?”
“You bet. Got them right here.” Joe read off the amounts and the method of payment.
Cradling the receiver against his shoulder, Ry scribbled the information on a notepad beside the phone.
If they closed the deal in thirty days, Joe would have his pay for unused sick leave and vacation by then.
Ry could borrow the rest, with Joe making payments out of his monthly pension checks, but a contribution from the trucker would help a lot in the beginning.
“Have you talked with Lavette recently?” Ry asked.
“Yesterday. The doctors can’t guarantee he’ll be able to continue his trucking career, and the insurance company wants to settle for a lump sum. Personally, I think he should take the money and run. I’ll go see him and fill him in on the ranch details. Maybe that’ll help him get off the dime.”
“Good idea.” Ry walked the length of the telephone cord. “Tell me, why are you so gung-ho all of a sudden?”
His question was met with silence.
“Hey, if it’s too personal, forget it. I’m glad you’re on board.”
“It’s my kid,” Joe said, his tone reluctant. “My ex-wife and her new husband are turning him into a pansy.”
Ry struggled to connect this information to Joe’s decision to go in on the ranch. “And...?”
“And I figure if I bring him out to the ranch, I can toughen him up some.”
Ry bit back his laughter. “No doubt. Just turn him over to Freddy Singleton.”
“I mean, he’s not a complete weenie yet. He’s only seven, but I can see where he’s headed and I figure it’s up to me to turn him around.”
Ry decided to play devil’s advocate, to make sure Joe was nailed down tight. “But you wouldn’t have to buy the place. You could just pay for a week or two as a guest.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. If Kyle thinks of me as part owner of the spread, I think I have a better chance.”
The spread . Ry loved it. Joe was nailed down, all right. Welcome to the Ponderosa, Joe Gilardini. “You may have a point.”
“And it’s a good investment, right? We’ll make a lot of money when we sell it?”
“I don’t see how we can lose, Joe.”