Heather Graham (7 page)

It would be okay—as long as it was honest, she decided. She didn’t care about promises or guarantees, just the honesty of whatever the relationship was.

“If I only knew more about him,” she murmured to herself. And she laughed out loud again because she was sitting there planning an affair with a man she had just met without being sure that an affair was what he wanted.

He hadn’t asked for anything in return for the loan, she reminded herself. But then he had also more than insinuated that he did want her. …

Martine realized that sitting around wasn’t going to do her any good. She jumped to her feet, quickly gulped down a second cup of coffee, and hurried outside to the barn. She grimaced when she saw that her buckskin, Cheyenne, was not in his stall. Someone had let him out to the pasture, and the quarter horse must have spent the morning rolling in whatever mud he could find.

In the pasture beyond the barn she found Cheyenne—every bit as filthy as she had expected. When she whistled, he trotted amiably to her, and though she started to chastise him, she quickly left off, chuckling as he nuzzled her shoulder and practically shoved her down.

“You lout!” She addressed the horse accusingly. “Now stop that and behave. You’re a working horse, remember? And we’re going to work today.”

Martie loved the animal. He had been born on the ranch when she was a teenager. She herself had broken him in with a lot of love, and he had grown to a beautiful and sleek seventeen hands. His color was pure buff, except for his stockings, tail, and mane, and his disposition was the sweetest Martine had ever known in any horse. He had the ability to stop on a dime and race with the wind, and he was so attuned to her voice and touch that she could, if necessary, ride him bareback.

She leaned her cheek against his velvety soft nose for a moment, then patted his neck. “Get over here, boy. You are a mess!”

Ten minutes of grooming shed him of his dust and mud. He lowered his head to accept his bit. Then she led him through the barn to the tack room because his saddle was heavy and she didn’t want to walk with it any farther than she had to.

Moments later she was trotting past the front pasture where the mares were running with their foals.

“Where do you think they’ll be, Cheyenne?” she asked. His long ears pricked up, and she patted his rump. “By the stream? Sounds logical. Or how about the eastern sector, where the fences were down? Eastern sector, huh? Okay, we’ll try that first.”

Martine gave the buckskin a free rein after they had curved around the pasture. The land here was flat with only a little scrub, and she could let him race his heart out with no worry about rocks or boulders against his hooves. And he wanted to run today, just as she did. His muscles bunched beneath her with tremendous power, and the air swept by her like a cool, sweet tempest.

She leaned low to his neck and for a moment closed her eyes to feel the thunderous beat. She had almost lost everything. And suddenly she felt exhilarated and wonderful, knowing that she hadn’t.

Near the hills she pulled in on their gait and began to scan the fences. At last she saw Kane. The bay he had ridden yesterday was roaming free, tugging at the patches of grass he could find. Kane had his shirtsleeves rolled up and was hammering in a fallen post. Martine wasn’t sure he saw her at first; she walked Cheyenne slowly to him, drawn by the play of his muscles, naked and flexed on his forearm, straining the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders. His hat was near him on the ground, and a thatch of his dark hair had fallen over his forehead. As she at last came before him, he shoved back his hair and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then raised his hand in greeting since he was holding several nails in his mouth.

“Want some help?” she asked, dismounting from Cheyenne. The amiable buckskin ambled off to search for scrub along with the bay.

He lowered his head to spit the nails into his hand, then gazed at her again. “I think I can handle a post,” he said dryly. But a smile seemed to hover on his lips, as if he were glad she had come.

“Where are the others?” Martine asked.

“Rounding the cattle to the stream,” he replied. His gaze moved over her, taking in her wild, windswept hair, the way her worn and faded jeans hugged her hips, the way her shirt molded over her breasts.

But it wasn’t a lascivious gaze, Martie thought, wondering why she wasn’t offended. It wasn’t lascivious, but it was very, very sexual. She wondered again just exactly what was wrong with her. His eyes upon her made her feel warm, as if heated nectar roamed through her veins.

“Got a minute?” he asked, inclining his head toward the post. “Let me finish this up, and then I’ve got a few questions.”

Martine shrugged. “I’m all yours,” she murmured. At his smile she realized what she had said, groaned inwardly, and wandered over to the horses. She heard the thud of the hammer and turned around, fascinated again by the simple physical action. A few moments later he had hammered in the last nail. He stooped for his hat and a piece of the broken fencing, then came over to her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, frowning.

“Take a look at the wood,” he told her.

She did so and saw nothing but the broken split. She looked into his eyes, mystified. “It’s broken,” she told him. “That’s why it needed to be fixed.”

“I know it’s broken!” he exclaimed impatiently. “But look at the way it’s split—as if someone had deliberately pulled it out.”

“Or,” Martine commented, determined not to be cowed by the man she had hired as foreman, “as if it had been shoved out. One of the steers might have done it.”

He tossed the wood down with disgust and planted his hands on his hips. “How many times have you seen a domestic steer butt a fence post like that?”

She shrugged. “It could have happened.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Okay, it could have happened. But I’m saying it didn’t. And you’re short one hell of a lot of cattle to call this place a ranch!”

Martie backed up slightly, then rigidly stood her ground, hooking her thumbs into her pockets. “We’ve had some problems. That’s why I couldn’t pay the loan. We lost half the herd to hoof-and-mouth, and the government ordered some of them killed before it could spread around.”

“A viral disease that
didn’t
spread around, did it?”

“No …” Martine said slowly. “But why would it have spread around from here? We were quarantined; I followed all the government instructions to the letter.” She shook her head. “What are you saying?”

He shrugged. “Hoof-and-mouth on only
your
ranch, but no contaminated feed in the area. A virus can be injected. I think Mr. Lander had a hand in all this. There were too many fences down on this place, too many strange coincidences. For one, that loss of cattle was ridiculous, it should never have happened to just your herd. He didn’t want you to be able to repay that loan.”

Martine paused, feeling as if a little of her breath had been stolen away. It was possible. “Okay. Maybe what you’re saying is possible, but how do I prove it?”

“You don’t—now,” Kane said a little bitterly. He planted his hands on his hips and stared up at the sun, centered in the sky. Then his eyes became riveted to hers again. “That leaves me curious all over again. Either you really did do something to that man or he was exceptionally keen to get his hands on this particular property. Which was it, Martine?”

She stared at him for a long, speechless moment, feeling her temper soar. When she spoke, her words were like chips of ice. “You might have lent me some money, Mr. Montgomery, but I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here on my own property and listen to any kind of veiled accusations from you!”

She spun about on her heel but was so angry that she had to grope blindly for Cheyenne’s trailing reins.

His fingers were suddenly winding around her arm, pulling her back to meet him. She stared at him furiously; his features remained as intense, his eyes as probing.

“I’m sorry, Martine. I just have to know.”

“You’re sorry, and you’re still interrogating me?” she demanded hotly.

“Yes,” he said. She saw that the shields were over his eyes again; they were narrowed and piercing enigmas.

“What difference does it make?” she asked as she tugged her arm. “You’ve saved the day. The hero rode in, and all is well. I owe you the money now with no strings attached, remember?”

He released her and crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, Martine, have it your way. The papers are on the desk if you want to look them over and have them checked by your attorney. Why don’t you go do that now?”

“I will,” she said coolly, and for the first time in her life, she had trouble setting her foot in the stirrup to straddle Cheyenne’s back.

His hands clamped around her waist despite her gasp of protest, and she found herself seated, staring down at him.

“And while you’re at the desk, you’d better check around for cattle prices. You’ve got to increase this herd or it will be worthless.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him. “I can’t go out purchasing cattle right now. My account is cleaned out. You should know that,” she snapped dryly.

But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was gazing at the distant hills, and it seemed he was oblivious of the fact that he had angered her.

Perhaps he was aware, she thought resentfully, but figured it just didn’t matter.

His eyes met hers again. “Never mind. Leave it to me. I’ll do the purchasing.”

“With what?”

He appeared mildly amused. “I’ll rob a train,” he told her, and at her thunderous expression and the spark in her eyes he laughed. “Seriously, I’ll buy the cattle with my own funds.”

“What are you—a bank?” She flared up at him, glad that at least when she was seated on Cheyenne, she could look down on him. “I’m not sure I want to borrow any more money from you.”

He arched a dark brow in surprise. “Why? There are no strings attached.”

“Aren’t there?” she demanded. “It seems you’ve already forgotten that I own the ranch. You’re the foreman, the employee.”

“You hired me to do a job,” he told her, and she saw the firm set to his jaw. “I’m doing it my own way.”

“Ah. And would you lend me more money if I asked you to leave the ranch?” Martine asked caustically.

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m not that generous.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” she said coolly. She backed Cheyenne away from him, then turned the buckskin smoothly and nudged him into a gallop.

At that particular moment she couldn’t get away from Kane Montgomery fast enough.

She read the promissory note Kane had written up in the office. It looked good—too good. His interest rate was only eight percent, and she had more than four years to make the loan good.

Tapping her foot with irritation, she saw that his signature had been notarized. Joe Devlin had vouched for him, so what was her problem?

She didn’t know, but as she continued to tap her foot she decided she’d pay Joe a surprise visit—without Kane Montgomery.

Martine decided to drive the distance rather than ride, so even in her ancient Ford truck she was at Joe’s door in thirty minutes. Serita, Joe’s housekeeper, led her into the foyer, giving her a firm tongue-lashing for staying away so long.

“When the senator is away, it is no reason for you to be a stranger here!” Serita said chidingly. She was a slim woman with huge dark eyes and a very, very maternal attitude.

“I’ve had a few problems lately,” Martie told her dryly.

“And you did not come to tell me all about them?” Serita demanded angrily. Martine lowered her head to hide a chuckle. She had solved problems many times in Serita’s kitchen: She’d cried there when her first pony died; she’d gone there when she’d had her heart broken for the very first time in seventh grade; Joe’s son, Bart, had been one of her best friends growing up. This place, this ranch, these people—all meant a great deal to her.

“Serita, I promise I’ll come cry on your shoulder more often in the future,” she said solemnly.

Serita gave her an indignant sniff. “Come out to the pool. The senator is relaxing. You want a margarita?”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

Joe was on one of the lounge chairs by the pool. He seemed startled by Martine’s appearance and looked behind her as if he hadn’t expected her to be alone.

Martine bent down and kissed his cheek. “Hi, Joe. I’ve missed you.”

He gave her a nice hug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me.”

She shrugged. “Well, it seems to be working out now.”

“But to sign such a ridiculous note over to Lander, Martine. You should have known it would only cause trouble, honey.’

Martie sat on one of the lounges next to him and thanked Serita when she was handed a margarita. Serita sat down with a pile of mending. “I never did think your daddy to raise no fool, child, but that was sheer stupidity!” Serita said, giving her opinion.

Martine laughed dryly. “My Lord, this sounds like
Peyton Place
! Does everyone know what I did?”

“Probably,” Joe told her good-naturedly.

“You sent Kane Montgomery over because you knew exactly what was happening, didn’t you?” she asked accusingly.

White lashes fell over the senator’s striking blue eyes. “Maybe I did. I didn’t know if you’d get yourself out of it or not. Don’t begrudge me—”

“Who is he, Joe?”

He gazed at her, startled. Martine thought that Serita’s sewing needle suddenly went very still.

“He’s a … ranch foreman,” Joe said.

“You’re lying to me. Why?”

“Young lady,” the senator said huffily, “I’m not lying to you. That man is a rancher. Anybody who’s not blind can see that for a fact.”

“Now he wants to lend me more money for cattle,” Martine said.

Serita muttered something in Spanish.

“What?” Martine asked, only to be told she was a stubborn and independent little whelp. Joe started laughing.

“I think she’s trying to tell you to let the man give you a hand, Martie. God knows, ranching is hard enough. But throw in a few flukes like the problems you’ve had lately, and a saint himself could use a little assistance! I agree with her. He’s a good man. Let him buy you a few cows. I guarantee that he can make you more than enough to pay him back.”