CHAPTER 24
Victoria
I need new shoes. My canvas hiking shoes are fine for Southern California, but it’s a different world here on Yosemite Ranch. I need rancher shoes or steel-toed work boots or what Summer wears.
Cowboy boots, they’re called. Duh. But if a woman wears them, do they become cowgirl boots? This is all new territory for me.
I finish tying my shoes and grab my laptop.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of my beloved Pradas, the shoes I wore to travel here.
They’ve been tossed in a heap in the closet, scratched up, twisted, and covered in rusty-red dirt.
Since paving seems to be a luxury around here, the rubble and rocks have left them mangled.
I doubt there’s a shoe repair anywhere on Earth that could bring them back. Walking on gravel and dirt and cracked surfaces is not what those beauties are made for.
I look down at myself. I can’t remember the last time I wore jeans and walking shoes two days in a row. But here I am.
I meet Cal on the front porch. He greets me with a perfunctory grunt. In his arms is an iPad and a stack of files. I don’t let his surliness bother me, though. Over breakfast this morning, I got a front-row view of the battle raging between his ears.
He’s interested. He’s not. He’s about to touch me again. He pulls away.
He makes me scrambled eggs, toast, and a protein shake. And then barely says two words to me.
But what he didn’t do is tell me to move out, so I guess in some way, I’ve won. At least for now. I know it will change. The only question is when and what triggers it.
As we walk to where his Jeep is parked, near the scene of the accident, I feel the dry air slam against my face. I think that the climate here is like Cal. All over the place.
It rained early this morning, but now it’s a cloudless, blue-sky day, a perfect seventy-five degrees.
But I know once the sun sets, the temperature will plummet again to the high forties.
It reminds me that I only brought one thin sweater, and it's the one I’m wearing.
Three items are now on my shopping list: cowboy boots, a heavy sweater, and a coat.
I didn’t pack to be a cowboy’s girlfriend.
Whoa. I stop in my tracks. Where did that thought come from?
“Is there a problem?” Cal asks.
I shake my head and start walking again. Of course, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not his woman or his one-night stand or his anything. I’m not even Cal’s friend, which he made perfectly clear with all that snark last night on the drive home from the hospital.
I see that Summer’s at work in the ring. She turns slowly in a circle at the center, a young horse attached to a long rope she holds in her hand.
She sees us and raises her chin in greeting, careful not to get distracted.
“It’s called a lunge line,” Cal says to me, opening the passenger side door. “She’s teaching the colt to pay attention to her, slow down when she does, stop and start up again. It’s the very beginning of training.”
“Interesting.”
We drive the twenty minutes to the hospital in silence. I know Cal doesn’t want my help with their contract negotiation. He’s made that clear. Summer told me that Jamie and his brothers had to twist his arm to the breaking point before he relented.
So that’s where things stand this morning. Cal is driving me to meet with Evander to review the contract and offer my input. But his body language is a reminder of what this is and what it is not.
I’m an unwelcome outsider. He really hates that his family has asked for me to temporarily join the team. And he can’t wait to get this meeting over with.
Evander’s in a regular room where they can keep him under observation. Even though he may be discharged as early as this evening, he’s insisted that Cal and I get there as soon as possible. He said it was extremely urgent.
We find him propped up in bed, his casted leg elevated and his arms crossed. I don’t know the guy, but he looks thoroughly unhappy.
“You have my iPad?” He holds out his hand. Cal gives it to him. He ignores us while he logs in and has a look at whatever’s got him fired up. This is about the negotiation, obviously.
“Fuck me. He can’t get here for ten fucking days.” Evander closes his eyes and drops his head to the pillow.
“Who?” Cal asks.
“My tailor!” He sits up again and stares at Cal like he’s responsible for this calamity. “I know the last Concorde flight was more than twenty years ago, but really? It’s London to Las Vegas, not Easter Island to Johannesburg, for fuck’s sake. He could be here tonight if he wanted to.”
I take a seat on the vinyl armchair near the bed, thinking that I have no idea what he’s going on about. I wonder if it’s the medication talking. “Is Dr. Taylor a surgeon?”
Cal barks out a laugh.
Evander turns his attention to me. “No. Thanks for coming, by the way. I’m talking about my Savile Row tailor.
” He tosses his iPad to the end of his bed.
“I had Phoebe call him and leave a message. It was the least she could do since she’s the one who ripped a perfectly good pair of trousers up to my groin. ”
“Your femur punched a hole in those pants long before she got to them.”
“Then I need a replacement pair, if not an entire suit. It’s the only one I own in that particular shade of gray. It goes with my eyes.”
I almost laugh, but Evander is such a dominant force that I hold back. Leaning forward, I examine the signature violet of his MacLaine eyes. They’re as gorgeous as Cal’s, but they have no effect on me. It’s like looking at someone else’s vacation photos.
Now I’m sure it’s the medication, because what Navy SEAL talks like a contestant on Project Runway? I decide to humor him. “Your hospital gown looks perfectly lovely with your eyes, Evander.”
He harrumphs.
Phoebe’s at the door. “Hi, everyone!”
Evander groans, like her cheerfulness pours salt on his wound.
She smiles at me. “And yes, he’s always this grumpy and this persnickety.
I’m surprised he hasn’t demanded room service.
” She checks on Evander’s saline drip, takes his temperature, and makes note of his blood pressure and pulse.
She does this quickly and efficiently before she ruffles up his thick black hair. He smacks her hands away.
“What pain meds is he on?” Cal asks.
“Oh!” Phoebe puts her hands on her curvy hips. “He’s refusing everything but ibuprofen. Told the surgeon that he needs to keep his mind sharp and that his SEAL training means he can handle a level of pain that would kill a normal person, blah blah blah.”
I can’t hold it in. I sputter with laughter. Evander glares at me.
“But now the doctor says he won’t send him home without something for the pain. Bye, all!” Phoebe leaves the room while speaking over her shoulder. “Use your call button if you need anything, Ev.”
“I need my tailor,” Evander whines. “And I need for everyone to use my actual name. Evander. Not Ev. Not Van. Not Der.”
I glance at Cal. The bored smirk on his face leads me to believe that this is completely normal behavior from his middle brother, with or without surgery.
I get to work with Evander. Cal paces and hovers. He occasionally adds his two cents, though we didn’t ask him for it. It doesn’t take long for me to see that this contract is complicated.
It’s a lease renewal with the Bureau of Land Management, or BLM.
The lease is for a huge parcel of land that connects Sulfur Springs to the rest of MacLaine ranchland.
That bit is news to me when it shouldn’t be.
I swear this wasn’t included in the background research I received.
Which is truly strange. As soon as we get back to Cal’s place, I’ll have to double-check.
The agreement is tricky because several parties have a stake in what happens with the lease. The US government does, of course, but also neighboring tribal authorities and private landowners. I’ve never handled something like this. But I can.
Of course I can.
That’s when Evander drops a bomb on me. “You’ll have to go to San Francisco in my place,” he says. “The meeting’s tomorrow.”
I stare at him, my brain buzzing with confusion. “I can’t do that. That would—”
“Help us out a lot,” Evander says, interrupting me. “I can’t go, obviously, and we have to get this wrapped up. I’m asking you to go in my stead.”
I turn to Cal. He looks as confused as I feel. “No fuckin’ way,” he says. “We can’t ask her to do that.”
I know what he’s really saying. That he can’t trust me to do it.
“Then go with her,” Evander says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Go do that supervising shit you love to do. Make sure it goes smoothly. And now, if you don’t mind, back off so we can get through all this.”
I look away from Cal. I can’t go to San Francisco. I can’t carry that burden of responsibility.
Evander walks me through the paperwork. He gives me background on the personalities involved and warns me of the speed bumps he sees coming.
Then he hands me something from Arlo, who handles the ranch accounts.
But it’s only an executive summary of valuation for the purposes of the lease renewal, which, Evander says, is how it’s always been done here.
I stay quiet, but this bothers me. They should have the original documentation.
Not to mention that family friends should stay friends and leave money matters to an outside professional.
That’s why it’s best not to ask a doctor-relative to provide a medical diagnosis—relationship history can cloud objective counsel.
But it’s none of my business. My priority is getting this contract taken care of for them, then turning my attention back to Sulfur Springs.
“Are you going to go to San Francisco?” Cal frowns down at me as he asks this.
“Please,” Evander says. “Seriously, I need your help.”
I nod. I’ll do it. Even though I’m aware that this is a step that will tighten my ties to the MacLaines and muddy my relationship with Cal. Not that I have a relationship with him. Whatever it is that we have, we’ve just blurred a few more lines.
I know this isn’t smart for me to do. I know I shouldn’t represent the MacLaines in one deal while I’m still trying to get them to work with me on another.
But I’ve already fucked up on so many levels and done so many things that I shouldn’t have that one more isn’t going to make a lot of difference.
“All right,” I say. I don’t look at Cal. I don’t want to see the disapproval.
We wrap up the meeting. I save the notes I’ve made on my laptop and accept a few of the files.
Just as I stand, Phoebe pokes her head in the door, a coat over her shoulders.
“I’m heading out. My mom just dropped off something for our favorite patient.
” She places a large casserole dish in Cal’s arms. “Mind taking that back with you? At least Mr. Perky Pants will have something to eat if he ever gets discharged. Bye!”
“I’m not taking pain medication!” Evander yells so that Phoebe can hear him. “That better not be lasagna! Everyone assumes sick people want lasagna. I don’t want lasagna and I’m not sick!”
Phoebe peers around the doorway, laughing. “It’s tuna casserole, Ev. Lots of omega-threes for collagen synthesis, which will help heal the incision.”
She disappears before Evander can start up again. Smart woman. I could learn a thing or two from Nurse Phoebe.
Cal’s sullen on the ride back. I busy myself by reviewing notes. We pull into the ranch, and Cal drives past his place and toward the barn, where Summer and Jasmine are standing.
“Victoria! Summer says you’ll go riding with us!” Jasmine’s hopping up and down in a princess dress over jeans and riding boots. Summer is in her regular ranch hand outfit, her long, untamed dark hair spilling out from under her cowboy hat.
I exit the Jeep and walk toward them. “Riding? A horse?”
“I can grab a bull if you prefer,” Summer says.
I hear Cal laugh behind me.
“I’d love to. Really. But I have to review a bunch of documents. Maybe some other time.”
“I don’t think she can ride.”
He’s right. Again. But I can’t let him know that.
“Of course I can ride, Cal.”
“Good,” he says. “Then by all means, let’s get something tacked up for Miss Backlund.”
“I didn’t bring my riding clothes, unfortunately.” That makes perfect sense because I don’t ride.
“We got everything you might need,” Cal says.
I think I’ve really gone and stepped in it this time.