Jeannie Watt - Cowgirl in High Heels

Two: informally evaluate employee performance, goals, strengths, weaknesses.

Now, that she could do.

Three: observe operations at other ranches and compare to Milo’s operation.

Again logical.

Four: meet with consultant.

There. Two goals set out in a businesslike manner. Three if she counted the one with no steps, but she didn’t because a nebulous goal was more like a wish.

Feeling slightly more in control, she pushed the notebook aside and sipped her tea. This was a start. A good start. She had direction. She reached for the pen again, hesitated, settled her left hand on her abdomen before she wrote, Research OBs. Make baby appointment.

* * *

FINALLY.

Ellie heard the truck approaching and pulled open the front room curtains to get a look at it, wrinkling her nose as dust wafted into the air. Whoever was cleaning this place needed a few lessons.

The red pickup pulled in between the small house and the barn, just as it had the night before, but this time she got a better look at the driver. Tallish, lean build, neatly dressed in jeans and a short jacket, ball cap over sandy hair.

He shot a quick look in Ellie’s direction before he mounted the porch, and she instinctively stepped back even though he probably couldn’t see her. As soon as he disappeared inside his house, Ellie slid her feet into her shoes and headed for the door, intent on intercepting him before he took off again.

The sun was out, but the air was crisp as she crossed the wide graveled area between the main house and barn. She hugged her arms around herself, wishing she’d grabbed a coat, but not wanting to turn back. She mounted the single porch step and crossed the creaking planks to the weathered six-paneled door, where she knocked once before rubbing her hands briskly over her upper arms. If this was what summer felt like in Montana, she didn’t think she’d want to spend a winter here. She was about to knock again when she heard movement from inside the house, and then a second later the door opened and Ellie found herself face-to-face with a rather incredible pair of greenish-gray eyes in an angular, magazine-worthy face. No wonder Montana was so popular.

“Hi,” the guy said with a frown that made Ellie realize she’d been staring. “Do you need help with something?”

“Are you Mr. Feldman?”

The frown cleared. “Madison. Ryan Madison.”

Ellie extended her hand. “Ellison Hunter. I’m Angela and Milo’s niece.”

Ryan took her hand briefly, then released it, but not before she’d registered how very callused his palm was. “Nice to meet you,” he said, sounding very much like Lonnie, the pie delivery boy. “I hope you enjoy your stay.” And that had been Jessie’s line.

“Yes, about that... It’s more than just a stay.” She sensed Ryan Madison taking a mental step back. After five years of working in human resources, she was pretty good at reading people, reading reactions. Most of the time anyway. She’d totally missed the boat with Nick and was now paying a very steep price. “I’m here to learn about the ranch.”

“Learn what?” he asked.

“How it’s run.”

“Do the Bradworths have a problem with the way the place is run?”

“They don’t know yet,” Ellie said matter-of-factly. “That’s why I’m here. I’m sure everything is fine, but you can see where my aunt and uncle need to be brought up to speed before moving onto the property.”

“Of course,” Ryan said. His hand was still on the door, as if he wanted to be able to close it as quickly as possible. “What can I do to help?”

“I’d like to meet with all the employees, discuss their duties. Get to know the operation and work from there.”

Ryan nodded, but gave no answer.

“I’d like to start soon.”

His eyebrows lifted. “How soon?”

“Well, as soon as it’s convenient.” She wanted something to do, something to focus on.

“Are you thinking today?”

“I was.”

“Fine.”

But she had a feeling it wasn’t. “I need to get in touch with the other employees and don’t have the means to do so. I can’t find any records.”

“There are three of us. Francisco Garcia, Walt and myself.”

“Could you give me cell numbers?” she asked.

“I can for Francisco,” he said. “Walt doesn’t have a cell phone.”

“Really?”

“Old school.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Old school was not usually the best practice when it came to business, but then Angela had said the place was about fifty years behind the times.

“I’ll have him get hold of you,” Ryan said.

“That’s what Mrs. Garcia said yesterday.”

“Jessie’s kind of busy with the kids right now. Maybe it slipped her mind. I’ll have Walt down here by the end of the day.”

“Thank you.” She shifted her weight, wishing she wasn’t feeling the urge to let her eyes travel slowly down his long body. “When would be a good time to meet with you?”

He looked over her head, out at the pastures, seemed to debate then said, “Whenever you want.”

“Half an hour? At the house?”

Ryan shrugged. “Sure. Half an hour.”

“See you then.”

* * *

RYAN SLOWLY CLOSED the door. This woman was here to evaluate the ranch? Great timing.

He watched through the half-open curtains as she walked across the graveled drive toward the main house. Ellison Hunter wore jeans that hugged her legs, a long expensive-looking sweater and flat ballerina shoes. Her dark blond hair was twisted up into one of those French-roll things that made him want to pull out the pins and let it fall back down. Cool and elegant, she didn’t look like any kind of ranch expert he’d ever seen, but looks could be deceiving. One of the best ropers he’d ever encountered was a sixty-five-year-old grandmother. And she wasn’t half bad at flanking and throwing, either.

Ellison disappeared into the main house and Ryan stepped away from the window and headed back into the bedroom to find a decent shirt.

Damn. What was this about? It figured that the new owners were going to do something with the ranch, since it was, despite what Walt seemed to think, theirs. Walt had been hoping that the Bradworths would be like the new owners of the old Trail Creek Ranch and never set foot on the place, instead using it as some kind of a tax dodge, and, frankly, so had he. Not to be.

Twenty-five minutes later Ryan knocked on the main-house door. Ellison answered almost immediately and he noticed that she’d put on makeup. Nothing major—just brownish eyeliner that made her green eyes seem larger, and lip gloss. Her hair had been smoothed and she had changed out of the long sweater for a white blouse and black jacket that, despite the jeans, made her seem much more...official.

He didn’t have a good feeling about official.

Or maybe it was just that he hated being in the dark. Until matters were settled with the family and Walt came to terms with whatever their plans were, things could be a bit dicey.

“Have a seat,” Ellison said, waving him to one of a set of leather chairs near the tall windows looking out into the semitamed backyard. Walt had never been much for landscaping, but on Mrs. Bradworth’s first visit she had made it clear that the lawn was to be mowed regularly and the bushes trimmed back. Flowers would be nice. Unfortunately, the deer and rabbits had thought flowers were nice, too, resulting in a lot of stems and not many flowers.

After Ryan sat, Ellison took the opposite chair with her back to the windows and settled a yellow legal pad on her knee. Then she smiled at him. A cool, professional, put-you-at-ease smile that only served to tense him up. He’d seen a similar smile once before—just before getting laid off from his last job during college.