Diana Palmer - Lone Star Winter

He smiled. “Remind me to have a step put on just for you.”

She didn’t reply, but that statement made her feel warm and safe. God knew why. She was certain he wasn’t really going to modify his vehicle just for her. She’d only been in it once.

“Do you like opera?” he asked out of the blue.

She blinked. “Well, yes…”

“Turandot?”

“I like anything Puccini composed. Why?”

“It’s playing in Houston. I thought we might go.”

She pinched her jean-clad leg under the table to see if she was dreaming. It felt like it, but the pain was real. She smiled stupidly. “I’d really like that.” Then her face fell. She moved restlessly and averted her eyes. “Better not, I guess.”

“You don’t have to wear an evening gown to the opera these days,” he said, as if he’d actually read her mind. He smiled when her eyes came up abruptly to meet his. “I’ve seen students go in jeans. I imagine you have a Sunday dress somewhere.”

“I do.” She laughed nervously. “How did you know I was worried about clothes?”

“I read minds,” he mused.

She sighed. “In that case, I’d love to go. Thank you.”

He finished his coffee. “Friday night, then. I’ll go round up Harley and see what he knows about your place.” He got up, hesitating. “Listen, there are some things going on around here. I don’t want to frighten you, but Lopez has men in and around town. I want you to keep your doors locked and be careful about strangers.”

“I always am,” she assured him.

“Do you keep a gun?”

She grinned. “No. I have Puppy Dog.”

“Puppy Dog will get under a bed if there’s trouble,” he assured her flatly. “I’ve still got Nels staying in the bunkhouse at night, and he’s armed. All you have to do is yell. He’ll hear you. He’s a very light sleeper.”

“You can’t be sure that Mr. Lopez means me harm.”

“I’m not. But I’m a cautious man.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll keep both eyes out for trouble.”

“I’ll pick you up Friday night about five. Okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll be ready.” She went with him to the front door and stood behind the screened door to study him, frowning. “Cy, is it too soon for this?”

“Because you’ve been a widow such a short time?” He shook his head. “I know you miss Walt. I’m not offering anything heavy, just a trip to the opera. It’s very unlikely that we’ll see anybody who knows us in Houston.”

“I guess you’re right.” She folded both arms around herself. “The walls are beginning to close in on me.”

“I don’t doubt it. A night at the opera isn’t exactly a cause for gossip.”

“Of course not.” She smiled. “I’ll see you Friday, then. And…thanks.”

“I get lonely, too,” he said with surprising candor. He gave her one last grin and walked out to find Harley.

His foreman was tight-lipped as he came striding out of the barn. When Harley forgot to be irritating, he was a cowboy and a half. Most of the men walked wide of him in a temper already. “The whole damned place is about to fall to pieces,” he said without preamble. “The hay hasn’t been cut, the corn hasn’t been put in the silo, there are breaks in half the fences, the calves don’t even have a brand…. What the hell kind of men did Mrs. Monroe hire?”

“Lazy ones, apparently,” Cy said tightly. “Find them and put them all on notice. Lisa’s selling me the place. We’ll put on four new men to work this ranch and share chores with my own.”

“That’s a wise decision on her part,” Harley said. “She doesn’t seem to know much about the business end of cattle ranching.”

“Her father thought women weren’t smart enough to learn it,” Cy mused.

“What an idiot,” Harley replied. “My mother can brand cattle right along with the cowboys, and she keeps the books for Dad.”

“A lot of women are big-time ranchers, too,” Cy agreed. “But Lisa doesn’t really have the knack, or the love, for it. Cattle ranching is hard work even if you do.”

Harley nodded. “I’ll put her part-timers on notice and get the boys over here with a tractor and a combine to hay those fields and harvest the corn.”

“When you get that organized,” Cy said, “I want to know what you saw over at the honey warehouse last night.”

“Not much,” Harley had to admit. “And I got challenged on your land by a man with a rifle. Good thing there was a cow down in the pasture for me to show him,” he added with a grin. “I told him we had a problem with locoweed and offered to show him where it grew. He went back on his side of the fence and didn’t say another word.”

“That was a stroke of luck,” Cy remarked. “Because we don’t have any locoweed.”

“We do now,” Harley murmured. “I set out a couple of plants and netted them, just in case I get challenged again. Now that I have a legitimate reason to be out there, they won’t pay much attention to me. And if they go looking for locoweed,” he added with a mocking smile, “why, they’ll find it, won’t they?”

Cy smiled at the younger man. “You’re a treasure, Harley.”

“Glad you noticed, boss, and how about that raise?”

“Don’t push your luck,” came the dry reply. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure thing.”

Cy drove to the lawyer’s office the next morning to discuss the land buy. Blake Kemp was tall, thirtyish, with a gray streak in his black, wavy hair, and pale blue eyes. He was the terror of the Jacobsville court circuit, although he looked mild-mannered and intelligent. Deceptive, Cy mused, studying him, because Kemp had a bite like a rattlesnake in court.

“I’m going to buy the Monroe place,” Cy said without preamble. “Lisa can’t run it alone, and she hasn’t the capital to make improvements or even necessary maintenance.”

“Good decision on her part,” Blake told him. “And on yours. It’s good land, and it adjoins your property.” He pursed his chiseled lips. “Is that the only merger you’re contemplating?”

Cy’s eyes narrowed. “She’s only been widowed two weeks,” he pointed out.

Blake nodded. “I know that. But she’s going to have a hard time paying rent. She doesn’t even have a job anymore.”

Cy studied him evenly.

“Well, I guess I could use a receptionist,” he said. “Callie Kirby is my paralegal, and she can’t really handle the research and the phones at the same time. Besides, Lisa worked for a colleague of mine last year. She knows her way around a law office.”

“What happened to the brunette who works with Callie?” Cy asked.

“Gretchen’s gone off to Morocco with a girlfriend from Houston,” Blake said with a chuckle. “She spent the past few years nursing her mother through a fatal bout of cancer,” he added solemnly. “And then the first man who took a shine to her insurance money broke her young heart. She needed a change of scene, and she said she doesn’t want to work in a law office when she comes back. So there’s a job available, if Lisa wants it.”

“I’ll tell her. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “We all like Lisa. She’s had a rough deal, one way or another.”

“She has indeed. Now, about those appraisals…”

When Cy came to pick Lisa up for their trip to the opera, he was wearing a navy sports coat with dark slacks and a white shirt. His tie combined red and navy in a paisley print. He looked dignified and very handsome. Lisa was glad he hadn’t worn a dinner jacket, be cause she had nothing that dressy in her small wardrobe. The best she could find was a simple gray jersey dress with long sleeves and a skirt that fell to her calves. She covered it with her one luxury, a lightweight black microfiber coat that was warm against the unseasonably cool autumn winds. Her hair was in a neat, complicated braid and she wore more makeup than usual to disguise her dark-circled eyes. She slept badly or not at all lately, and not completely because she missed Walt. She was having some discomfort that concerned her. She knew that pregnancies could fail in the early weeks, and it bothered her. She really needed to talk to her doctor when she went for the next visit. It might be nothing, but she didn’t want to take any chances with her baby.