Chapter 5
Jorja rose early, anticipating her second visit to the Carpenter Ranch, hoping it was successful in moving the process of bringing the parcels under lease.
The messenger bag was repacked with her device and charger, copies of Ogden-Keller's lease form, pens, and a fresh legal pad. Taught by landmen who had more years in the industry than she had been alive, she was old school, preferring to record details by shorthand. Writing would also serve to help her focus less on the dreamy rancher.
Her father, and his father before him, often said that landowners only wanted to do business with those they felt they could trust. Somehow, the initial head butting between Rake and her had to be defused.
Still pushing for a hookup between her best friend and Rake, Nettie had not mentioned that he would be there, and she would have, especially after Jorja disclosed what happened with Rake at the ranch on Friday and the history of their families. But she had tried to bring him several times last night, finally dropping the subject when Jorja gave her the death stare.
The conundrum was that she and Rake were enemy combatants not of their making but of a situation they inherited from earlier generations. And here she was, requesting permission to explore and drill beneath his land, a mammoth tract that blanketed the mineral estates her family owned. It was essential that it went well and was above board. She mentally noted what she was faced with:
Trying to do business within a fractious history.
Contending with searing attraction.
What could go wrong?
A lot.
The need to prove herself to her father pushed her. Like her brother, she possessed an unrelenting drive to succeed. While shadowing geologists, geophysicists, and engineers and spending days upon days in the fields accompanying Walter and Clive on visits—Ogden-Keller’s two landmen with whom she was most familiar—Jorja’s love of the oil and gas industry grew, propelling her to learn as much as she could.
The seed of ambition, long planted in Texas’ oil-and-gas-rich land, propelled her forward, toward earning, on merit, her place as the next CEO of Ogden-Keller Oil. To do so, to be held in the highest regard, she had to have a solid understanding about the industry (check) and the laws governing it (check), technical skills of the diverse workforce (check), and improve her business acumen (working on it). She hoped to enter the C-Suite before turning forty. She had thirteen years and a tremendous amount of work to do to soften and influence her father’s long-held opinions and biases.
Jamison Ogden never considered employing his daughter at Ogden-Keller, forget preparing her to take over. He and his wife saw that role being filled by their son Clem; the heir apparent who was eight years older than Jorja. Their mother was intent on finding her daughter a suitable husband. The marriage would provide her and Jamison with grandchildren.
The news that Clem was not joining Ogden-Keller was met with a ferocity that Jorja had never witnessed in her parents. Amid the shock and anger reverberating through their home like a godawful Texas storm, Jorja schemed, strategically planning what was needed to supplant her brother in a role that he had no interest in, with his blessing. She had no desire to settle down at such a young age—certainly not with someone chosen by her parents—and acted out until her father agreed to bring her on as a landman apprentice.
Shouting matches, recriminations, and slamming doors were reduced to arguments and pleading. Eventually, their parents surrendered. Clem went off to medical school, still within Texas, and then out of state to complete his specialty in neurology. He settled in Chicago, joining the same practice as Uncle Royce, their father’s younger brother.
Jorja took to being a landman like a duck to water. But she wanted more.
She shook her head and returned to the present. Focus. Rake’s giving you a second chance. Still, there were monumental hurdles to overcome: earning his trust and regarding her as likable and credible, tall orders considering the history and the sexual energy zinging between them.
This time, she selected her clothes based on what businesspeople had been wearing Saturday in Eagle Creek. Clean, lightweight jeans without any holes or distressing, a pale pink sleeveless lightweight-cotton shirt, and the same cowboy boots—her favorites—that she had on the other night at Beugy’s. If Rake recommended walking any of ranch, her worn steel-toed leather work boots were in the large, locked cargo hold, which also contained the emergency survival kit, first aid kit, and get home bag. Preparedness had been driven into her since she was a young thing and become more so when she was driving Grandad's International.
Would Rake be amused by her dressing down for this visit?
His reaction, or lack thereof, might indicate how the meeting would go.
Or not. Her one thick braid was pulled through the back of the denim-blue ball cap, keeping escaped strands tucked in.
Hair flying about or stuck to her face was annoying, especially on what was predicted to be a sultry day, until the cold front arrived ahead of a storm that was expected to wreak havoc in the area of the Lone Star State later this afternoon.
By then she would be tucked into her townhome in Landry and out of the storm's path.
B ody thrumming, Jorja pulled into the Carpenter property, heading up the rise and past the old stone house and barns, where the meeting that might forever haunt her had occurred. The weedy gravel gave way to a well-maintained paved drive that wound through undulating topography and led to a magnificent post and beam home surrounded by beautiful landscaping sitting atop a much higher hill that possessed a 360-degree view. She also glimpsed a decent sized shed close to the house with a fenced garden situated to minimize exposure to Texas’ afternoon heat.
A sleek, metallic red BMW convertible was stationed on the parking pad under the dense shade of a large bur oak. She parked the International next to the Beemer and carefully opened the ornery door, exiting the truck in one piece. Her eyes traveled over the car and its cognac-colored leather interior; it was the same model her mother drove, only hers was green with a white interior. A car charm in the shape of the state of Texas, embellished with a dangling feather of the same metal and a leather tassel, hung from the review mirror. A curly straw cowboy hat rested in the passenger seat. A woman. What was she walking into? An overnight guest? She groaned under her breath but kept moving toward the house, undeterred. It was early for a business meeting, but she was here at Rake’s request.
A stone path steered her to the steps and onto the wide front porch overlayed with the same material. She paused before going any further and turned in a slow circle, taking in the soaring expanse of exposed timber beams spanning from posts, the large ceiling fans churning languidly, and the collections of seating. Inviting. It was easy to envision herself relaxing in one of the comfortable-looking chairs. She approached the double front doors. The left side opened before she could knock.
Rake appeared, with damp hair and barefooted, dressed in jeans and a black "I'm Your Density" tee.
Seriously? A quote from Back to the Future ?
He raised the mug he was holding, a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes assessed her from head to toe. “Mornin', Miss Ogden. I'm never sure which woman I’m gonna meet. Please come in.” He extended his arm into the house, and she entered, quivering as she moved past him. He smelled wonderful—clean, vibrant, and woodsy.
“Wow. Your home is gorgeous.” It was spacious yet felt like a warm hug. The smells of coffee and something baked made her mouth water. That and the man close to her. She inhaled deep and exhaled slow to ease the erratic beating of heart, then faced him and smiled cheerfully. It was a new day after all, and she would likely be spending hours of it with him. Let’s get this off on a positive note. “Good morning, Mr. Carpenter. Have you considered that I might be more than a few women all tucked into one?”
He moved his lips about, then a soft sound rumbled through him, reminding her of a purring cat. “Intriguing.” He sipped from his mug, a glint in his eye. “Those boots good for walking a distance? Takin' you to see some of the ranch. To help you grasp the importance of the guarantees we want and why.”
“We?”
“Lee, Skye, and me. He’s in Colorado and Skye hasn’t reached the age of majority, but she sure as hell has opinions. I’ve got power of attorney.”
Good. Another indication that he was serious about a real discussion. Hope soared within her. “My work boots are in the truck.” Her eyes dropped to his feet, which were surprisingly nice, and, when she realized what she was doing, they darted upward, landing on his face.
He looked as if he was fighting not to laugh. “I'm more than a just a handsome face, nice feet, and a sexy body. I promise you that.” His purring was more pronounced, like a caress that had goosebumps spreading all over her skin. “Fess up. You're more than curious.”
She refused to take the bait. “You did ask me to keep the morning open.”
“That, I did. I have until noon. Let's get you a coffee. Bring an appetite?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. We're having eggs and I made a cinnamon streusel coffee cake. No bacon. Someone forgot it on her last trip to the store.” He griped.
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “You made coffee cake?”
Dammit. Her question sounded absurd. Of course, men baked and cooked, but the fact that Rake did was a surprise given his alpha-ness. It also fascinated her. What other unexpected aspects of the man were there?
“Oh, woman.” He shook his head slowly, the wolfish glint returning, and winked. “I've got skills. C'mon.” He led her to the large chef’s kitchen.
Jorja was tongue-tied, which was a good thing. The stunning blonde who had been with Rake in Eagle Creek was dressed similar to Jorja, but wearing work boots. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she seemed totally at home making eggs in a cast iron skillet on the cooktop. She turned off the gas, spun, and held out her hand. “Good morning. Jorja Ogden, I presume? I’m Cody.”
“Yes.” Jorja was flummoxed but shook the woman's hand. So, his girlfriend knew of her. But why so cordial? Woman were such territorial creatures, as she well knew.
“Honestly, Uncle Rake.” Skye huffed, entering the kitchen in a midriff tee and short shorts. “I heard all of that. Unbelievable. Stop toying with Jorja. Get the business done and then get on with asking her out.” To Jorja, she said, “Morning. He made me get up early for this. I told him my thoughts, but he still made me get up.”
Rake’s tone held an edge. “Part of the responsibility of being an owner of the Carpenter Ranch is being present and learning about the implications of the exploration and drilling of our land.”
Skye stared at her uncle impassively and lifted the coffee carafe before Rake could grab it. “Coffee, Jorja?” Then she addressed Cody. “Did you hear him? Morning. Thanks for making the eggs. Uncle Rake’s are crap.”
Rake stared at his niece and cleared his throat.
“Just stating the truth.”
“Find a nicer way, Skye.”
Jorja glanced about, trying to grasp all of the back and forth between Rake, Skye, and Cody. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the coffee from the sullen teenager.
Skye topped her mug off and placed it on the counter, then pushed herself up to perch on the black granite. “Java fixings are next to the coffee maker.”
“Niece, we're having a business meeting, which includes you. Not a slumber party. Find something appropriate to wear. You have five minutes to change and adjust your attitude.”
Skye's scowl was met with a stern look from her uncle. She hopped off the counter and pranced away.
“Cody and I grew up together, Jorja.” Rake set down his mug and braced himself against the counter. “With Levi, but then Nettie told you that.”
“She did.” Well, about Levi. Not about the head-turning blonde.
“Cody's an oil and gas attorney and one of Levi's partners. She agreed to take this meeting since he's out of town on business.”
Not a girlfriend. Poof. The green monster in Jorja’s mind vanished and relief filled her. “Thanks for the explanation,” she said too enthusiastically, recovering with a subdued follow-up, “I appreciate you being here, Cody, and thank you for breakfast. You too, Rake.”
“Sometimes other things get in the way of thinking clearly,” Cody said with one brow arched and a hint of a smile, her eyes moving from Rake and landing on Jorja.
Jorja’s system went on high alert. What the hell?
A twinkle appeared in Cody’s eyes, and she continued. “Negotiations can be unpleasant. More so on empty tummies. Especially his empty one.” She pointed at Rake with the large spoon, then scooped the eggs onto a large platter. “Don't forget that you're wrapping up some of that sour cream coffee cake for me to enjoy later, mister.”
“Yes ma'am.”
“How can I help?”
“You're a guest. Jorja. We're informal here.” Rake carried the platter to the set table in the dining room. “Sit yourself down and dig in.”
She sat in front of the coffee cake, which was already there, half of it sliced. Cody brought over the carafe and a ceramic pitcher of cream and took the seat next to her. Rake eased into the chair across from Jorja.
Skye blew in, dressed in jeans and a threadbare sleeveless red tee with white lettering that was so distressed that the word Texas was difficult to make out. “Better, Uncle Rake?”
“Yes.”
Skye glanced at the table and marched back to the kitchen. “Why do you always forget the fruit?”
“Why did you forget the bacon?” Rake rebutted, loud enough to be heard.
“My teen-aged brain.” She returned immediately with a large, covered bowl. “I’ll run to the store this afternoon for your poor self.”
He glared at her. “Drop the sass.”
“Fine.” Skye pulled off the lid, added a large spoon, took a strawberry, and passed it to Jorja. “You start.” She dropped into the chair next to Rake and popped the fruit in her mouth “Oh yum ...”
Inside was a medley of berries. Jorja's favorite. She ladled a large portion onto her plate and passed it to Cody, who sent it across the table to Skye. “As soon as everyone is finished, we're heading out in UTVs instead of walking. The storm is blowing up faster than expected.” Rake’s plate was already clean, and he pushed back from the table. “We'll take Jorja on a tour, show her some of the finer points of the Carpenter Ranch. Items on our list that we expect will be protected. You’re with me, Jorja, and will want to take notes. Maybe pictures. Bring your phone.”
She was eager to begin negotiations, but he was in control of the pacing, a deliberate move on his part when setting the meeting. She glanced over at him, and he winked, wearing just hint of smile. Yep. Well done, Mr. Carpenter.