Destiny Wears Spurs (8 page)

“None of your damn business,” Cody hollered back and kept walking, while roars of laughter rang out behind him. He had the niggling sensation it was going to take a hell of a lot more than a couple cold showers to get rid of what ailed him.

CHAPTER FIVE

Wendell Thorndike walked down the hall of Hammond’s Advertising Agency from his office to Stanley’s with renewed hope. Monica must be failing miserably, just like he knew she would. Her father had finally come to his senses. That had to be it. That
better
be it.

Wendell rapped on the doorframe with the back of his knuckles. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Come in. Have a seat.” The old man looked up, nodded, and then continued to rifle through a stack of papers on his desk.

Wendell sat in the brown leather chair on the other side of the massive oak desk and waited. He would wait forever for Stanley Hammond; in fact, he already had. He’d waited a long time to see this man take a fall for what he’d done.

Wendell took in the floor-to-ceiling shelves, littered with expensive books and priceless works of art. Thick burgundy curtains framed massive windows, which let the afternoon sun stream in and warm the room. He shifted, and his Italian shoes sank into the plush beige carpet. Soon this would all be his to destroy. It was only a matter of time. Hammond’s daughter wasn’t capable of running it, so why shouldn’t Wendell have it? He was the real protégé.

“Take your time, sir.” It was no secret Hammond wanted him to take over the agency. He’d even encouraged him to propose to his only daughter. Probably his way of keeping the business in the family. He’d been disappointed when he heard the engagement had been called off, but he’d still planned to appoint Wendell as CEO. That is, until Monica said she wanted the position. Wendell had been shocked when Hammond had actually agreed to give her a shot. If Monica succeeded, it would ruin everything.

Wendell couldn’t let her do that.

Gretchen came in to set a tray on the corner of the desk. Wendell helped himself to a cup, doctoring it with a generous portion of cream and sugar. Anger shot through him as he thought of Monica. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the engagement ending. He’d never wanted to marry her, but he would have done it anyway. He had planned to divorce her as soon as he had an heir and was firmly embedded in running the company. Then he had planned to find a way to ruin Hammond once and for all, and he still did.

So long as no one found out his true identity.

“So, Thorndike, what’s the latest on Worldwide Pharmaceuticals?” The old man glanced up at him, then he fixed himself a cup of coffee and sat back in his chair.

“Everything’s on schedule. The FDA should give their approval for the drug launch any day now. We’ve slotted Worldwide right before Mr. Rafferty in the timetable to launch their ad campaign, and they’re happy with everything so far.”

“Good, good. Make sure they continue to like our work. Keep me posted if any problems arise. I want them to stay happy. They’re our biggest client.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Good.” The old man took another sip as he stared at him, studying him until he felt like squirming. The guy had been acting different ever since Monica had left.

“Was there anything else you wanted to see me about, sir?” Wendell tried hard not to fidget.

“No, that’s it. You can get back to work now. Unless there’s something you want to talk to me about.”

“No, that’s it for me.” Wendell set down the cup he’d barely touched and stood. Heading for the door, he paused before stepping into the hall. “Any news from Monica?”

“Not at all. I’ve worked hard for this position, and I admire you tremendously, but I understand. She’s your daughter, after all.” Wendell understood, all right. He headed back to his small office with the drafty windows and cheap carpet. He understood it was time to take matters in his own hands. If she did a good job, he became dispensable.

Monica had surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to last this long. She was a decent executive, but she couldn’t write a slogan worth a damn, and she sure as hell wasn’t CEO material. She certainly didn’t know anything about living in the country. That alone should have done her in on day one.

Somehow, she’d held her own. Dammit, he deserved the promotion more than she did, and by God he’d find a way to make it happen. He was smart. He’d gone to Harvard on an academic scholarship, and he’d handled plenty of accounts, unlike Monica. The only advantage she had was Hammond as a last name.

He would make a few calls, pull some strings, and make things happen. Glancing at the Rolodex on his desk, an idea hit him. He knew exactly what to do, and Monica would help him dig her own grave.

* * *

“Mornin’, Cookie,” Cody said to the cantankerous old cattle ranch cook as he strolled into the cookshack. He tossed his Stetson on the long harvest table as he slid onto the bench.

Festus jumped a foot, like he’d been branded on the backside with a hot iron. The cook’s real name was Festus, but the boys called him Cookie to annoy him. He enjoyed the bantering, but he’d sooner eat a two-headed snake than let on.

He jerked around, scowling, and his long, white beard swung in the breeze. His lined face crinkled into a lopsided grin when he saw Cody. “Land sakes, boy. I didn’t recognize yer voice. Ya gave me quite a fright.” His grin slipped, and he wiped his hands on his apron. “You startin’ on the spruce up?”

“Nah. Not sure what I want to do yet.” More like “can’t make the place look too profitable,” but he hadn’t told anyone the whole truth about his deal with Hammond. No one but he and Hammond knew the deal was phony. That alone should tell him what he was doing was wrong, but he owed the man. And he knew if his old man were alive, he would have done the same.

The cook stopped fidgeting with his apron and stood a little straighter. “Not sure what to do? If’n ya ask me, it’s a no-brainer. This place needs work from the tackroom to the toilets, sonny.” He shook his head. “Whatcha doin’ here? It’s a might early fer vittles, ain’t it?”

Looking away from the curiosity he saw in the cook’s eyes, Cody shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted to get an early start.”

Festus snorted.

Cody had come to breakfast early to avoid any more ribbing from his men. He couldn’t tell them what had happened in the barn. Monica was mad as a hornet that he’d yelled at her. You couldn’t pay him enough to stir up that nest any more by telling his men she couldn’t handle her job.

“I’ll rustle up some coffee and start them vittles.”

“Take your time.”

The cook waddled out the door, making a beeline for the ancient chuckwagon. Cody grinned. Taking in the sparkling modern kitchen that never got used, he chuckled.

Normally, they only used the chuckwagon when on the road, like during roundup, but Cassie had outfitted it with all the newest gadgets for the dudes. Cookie had taken a shine to it. Cody’s grin slipped. He thought of all the things his ranch lacked compared to the newer, bigger dude ranches popping up all over Colorado. Rooms twice the size of his cabins, with all the latest amenities like high-definition, flat-screen or plasma TV’s, hot tubs, twice as many excursions and more ranch activities. Better horses, bigger herds, more help.

The list went on and on.

Based on his income, there was a definite market for people interested in small-town atmosphere, cozy cabins, and country charm. But he wanted to progress with the times. Spread the word that Rafferty’s Remote Ranch was a dandy place to be. He should write his own damn slogan. It sure as hell couldn’t be any worse than the ones Monica had come up with. She frustrated the heck out of him most of the time, but he had to admit, she made him laugh. She was the only one around who refused to take orders from him.

The cook returned with a pushcart loaded with steak, eggs, toast and coffee. The mouth-watering aroma set Cody’s stomach to growling. “That oughta do it. Think I’ll join ya.”

“Help yourself.” Cody dug into his meal with gusto.

“What’s this I hear about some woman on the ranch?”

Cody choked on his first bite. He took a swig of his coffee, his gaze locking onto the old timer’s face. Forcing the food down, he slowly lowered his fork to the table.

Festus continued, sniffing with distaste. “I know. It’s probably just a rumor. Them boys is always tryin’ to get my goat. I told them, the boss don’t cotton to no greenhorn woman bein’ nowhere’s near a cattle ranch, but they--”

“They were right.” Cody watched the cook’s jaw fall open. “I had no choice. Besides, I gave my word. I can’t break it. You know that.”

“Yeah, but a woman? Shoot, some city slicker ranch hand was bad enough, but a woman? A country gal like Cassie is just fine, but some flaky-as-a-buttermilk-biscuit ‘city’ woman ain’t got no business on a cattle ranch. Mark my words, there’s a storm a-brewin’, just waitin’ to erupt.”

“It may already have.” Cody stared down at the table. He did not want to be around when Monica found out his men thought they were sleeping together. “I made a deal with her father.” He looked Festus in the eye. “I intend to keep it.”

The cook opened his mouth, looking ready to argue further, but snapped it shut. Throwing his arms in the air, he shook his head, grumbling, “Lord help us all. The boss’s done made up his mind. Once that happens, tryin’ to change it is like tryin’ to find udders on a bull.” He sat down to sulk.

Cody ate the rest of his meal in silence.

“Well, I’d better get on out and start them vittles fer the boys. They sure are a hungry bunch in the mornin’.”

Cody glanced at the wall clock, surged to his feet, and then plopped his hat on his head. “Thanks for the grub. Tell the boys not to linger. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

The cook nodded, stroking his beard. Cody turned away before he could question him further but heard his parting shot as he opened the door. “Yep. No doubt about it. A storm’s a-comin’. From the looks of it, a mighty big one.”

* * *

Monica hurried her steps, running late again. She halted several yards away from the cookshack, not wanting to intrude, but not wanting to miss breakfast. A pudgy little man stood outside in the morning sunshine, grumbling.

“The boss ain’t the only one actin’ strange this mornin’. Why, them boys wouldn’t even argue with me. Too busy carryin’ on about somethin’ I know nothin’ about. That don’t sit right with me, no sir, it don’t.

“It ain’t any dern fun when the boys ignore me, no sir, it ain’t. Why, they can tar and feather me ‘fore I let some no-account, meddlin’ female stir up a hornet’s nest the size of Texas. You just wait till I see ya, girly. Why, I have a mind to put ya over my knee and--”

“Good morning. I take it you’re Festus,” she sang out, knowing darn well she was the “girly”.

Hopping a foot, he swung his snowy head around, a snarl etched across what she could see of his tanned, wrinkled face. The rest was hidden behind the longest and whitest beard she’d ever seen. He could have been jolly ole St. Nick’s alter ego.

“Yer darn tootin’ it’s Festus to ya. Don’t you be forgettin’ it, girly. Breakfast is over. You’ll have to eat the leftover vittles. Next time ...
be
on time.”

“I’m truly sorry. I pride myself on being prompt,” she said with a smile. “It’s only recently I seem to have a problem in that area.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Monica Hammond, but please, call me Mo.”

He narrowed his eyes to slits and gnawed his thin bottom lip. After a moment’s hesitation, he shook her hand.

“I don’t want to be a burden. Point me in the right direction, and I’ll fend for myself,” she continued.

“Ain’t nobody touchin’ my things. Wait right here,” he grumbled without much bite in his words this time, as he waddled away and disappeared into the back of an ancient chuckwagon. A pleasant breeze wafted to her nose, carrying with it the appetizing aroma of bacon and eggs. When the cook reappeared with arms loaded, she clapped her hands.

A
working
chuckwagon. She couldn’t believe it.

His lips turned down as he stared at the cold eggs, undercooked bacon, burnt toast, and strong coffee he carried. “Girly, it sure don’t take much to please ya.”

She charged past him and peered inside the back of the worn-down wagon. The inside sparkled with modern appliances and burst at the seams with supplies.

“Do you really cook out of this?” She glanced over her shoulder and watched him hesitate and then nod.

“Wow. I can’t believe this is real. I thought you only used it for show. Very cool.” Now, this was the kind of stuff she could use for the advertisement. Monica created the layout for new brochures in her mind and then turned a bright smile on Festus when she remembered he stood behind her.

His complexion glowed as red as Rudolph’s nose, and he squirmed. “If yer done lookin’, you’d better take yer breakfast and get a move on. Them boys’ll be wantin’ to head out pretty soon.” His voice cracked.

“You’re right about that.” She snatched the toast and coffee and then headed toward the cattle barn, glancing over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Festus. Thanks for being so kind.” She gave him a small wave and watched the red spread from his nose to his ears.

“Bah.” He shooed her off, waddling around and disappearing once again into the back of the old chuckwagon.

Monica continued walking. She had a feeling his bluster was all for show, but she couldn’t help liking the old scrooge, and suspected he might like her, too. Though he’d probably never admit it. Now, if she could only get her boss to like her, things would be much easier. That was the only reason she wanted him to like her, she told herself.