The Rancher's Prospect (3 page)

“Hello. You're obviously Lauren's sister.” His mother's voice intruded into his thoughts. Always gracious, she'd come over to introduce herself. “I'm Sarah McGregor, and you must be Tara. How nice of you to come with Lauren to check on Emily.”

“Not at all. I'm glad your daughter-in-law is all right,” Tara said politely. “I take it Alaina, the one having the baby, is your daughter?”

“Yes, I'm so blessed. Five children and three of them married now.”

Josh leaned forward, interested by Tara's discomfort in talking to his mom. It seemed strange since she hadn't quailed under his bad temper, but you never knew.

His mother glanced at him and back at Tara. “I gather you met my son before this morning...?”

“That's right,” Josh interjected, hoping to head off any revelations Tara might make. “We ran into each other when I went to the clinic for my hand.”

“Yes,” Tara agreed smoothly. “He thought I was Lauren, but I don't have a medical background. I do accounting and records management for an international company based out of London.”

His mother seemed oddly disappointed. “Then you won't be staying in Schuyler?”

“Not permanently. I'm a freelance contractor and my latest contract just ended. An extended visit seemed the best way to get better acquainted with my sister.”

“Isn't it wonderful?” Lauren said in a soft, enthusiastic voice. “Tara says she can take a few months off before she goes back to work. Of course, then she'll be heading off to Berlin or Singapore or some other faraway spot.”

“But you'll be here until then?” Sarah pressed Tara.

“As far as I know.”

Josh restrained a groan, suddenly realizing why his mother was so curious. Now that he was back in Montana, she'd decided it was time he got married. She'd had mixed feelings about him falling in love when he worked in Texas...since a wife from the Lone Star state might expect him to remain there instead of come home.

But Josh had no interest in marriage, not until he got things in order at the Boxing N. Then...
maybe
. Great-Uncle Mitch had never married and seemed quite happy. Meanwhile, Josh enjoyed dating, but it had nothing to do with looking for a life partner.

“Do you enjoy horseback riding?” Sarah asked Tara.

“Very much, though I haven't gone for a couple of years. Mostly I was able to ride while living in England. I also got a couple of chances when visiting the Australian outback.”

England? Australia? And most recently she'd lived in France? Boy, was his mother barking up the wrong tree. When and
if
he ever wanted a long-term relationship, it wouldn't be with someone whose lifestyle took her all over the world. Someone like that would never stay long in Montana.

A rancher needed a wife who loved ranching alongside him. Josh had already seen how hard a marriage could be without a shared passion. Grandma Evelyn had come from San Francisco and never completely adjusted to ranch life. Actually, Josh wasn't sure what had held Walt and Evelyn together. It must have been a case of knowing they could have married more wisely but were making the best of things. His grandfather's priority had been the Boxing N above everything else, and Grandma Evelyn had loved art, music and flower gardens.

He glanced at his grandfather, who'd briefly fallen asleep earlier but was awake and blinking groggily. If only Walt would try to make the best of things
now
, but he wanted things his way and only his way. Ironically, Grandpa never would have put up with that behavior when he was a young man; stories of the battles between Walt and
his
father were epic. Of course, those battles might have started his stubborn refusal to see anyone else's point of view.

“You're welcome to go riding at our ranch whenever you want,” his mother told Tara. “Lauren, too, of course.”

“You'll have to excuse me,” Josh said, hoping to head off his mother from suggesting that he give Tara and her sister a personal tour of the McGregor spread. “I'm going to the cafeteria for some better coffee than this sludge. Who wants some?”

There were several raised hands, along with a rueful shake of the head from Kayla, who was holding her four-month-old daughter. Kayla was forgoing coffee until she was no longer nursing—she'd discovered that even decaf gave the baby colic. Josh knew how hard that must be for her; she'd once lived in Seattle, which was a mecca for coffee lovers, and deeply missed the brew.

When he returned with a tray of steaming cups, Lauren and her sister had left. His mother was still talking about them, though, and he was convinced she had matchmaking in mind.

He would have to be careful. The past few months had been hard on the family, especially for his mom. She'd lost her mother and watched her father go from being an active, vital rancher to a querulous old man with disabilities. The arrival of Kayla's baby had helped, along with having his sister, Alaina, pregnant along with Emily. Still, he didn't want to raise her hopes that he'd get married anytime soon.

Right now he was solely interested in the ranch he'd dreamed of building. Grandpa was providing enough roadblocks; he didn't need any more.

* * *

L
AUREN
PRESSED
HER
fingers to her stomach as she walked with Tara toward the emergency room exit. She wished negative emotions didn't bother her so much. Heck, half the time she was wrong, misinterpreting a frown or shrug and losing sleep over what it might mean or questioning what she should do about it...even as she knew she was being ridiculous.

Josh McGregor was a prime example. The way he'd stomped out of the waiting room had seemed ominous, but it could be her imagination. And even if it wasn't, it didn't necessarily mean anything except that he was having a bad day.

If only that sort of thing didn't make her feel as if she was shriveling up inside.

It would be wonderful to be more like Tara. Karen—the receptionist at the clinic—had gleefully recounted how Tara had “stuck it to Josh” when he'd roared into the waiting room earlier in the week. Obviously Karen felt their patient had deserved a dose of comeuppance.

Maybe so, but Lauren was glad someone
else
had dispensed the prescription.

She hadn't talked enough with Tara to know if her twin was interested in settling down and getting married, but it would be wonderful if she stayed in Montana. There were plenty of nice guys in town. Almost as if summoned by the thought, Lauren saw two men in uniform coming through the double doors to the emergency room. The taller man grinned when he saw her.

“Hey, Lauren,” Carl said. “I heard about Alaina, so we stopped to say hello to the family and wish them well.”

Lauren nodded as other kinds of flutters started. “That's nice of you.”

Carl was the local sheriff and the man with him was a new deputy. After living in Los Angeles with its frantic pace, she loved the small-town atmosphere in Schuyler. She couldn't imagine a big-city policeman dropping in like this at the UCLA Medical Center.

Carl had attended the Trent Hawkins–Emily George wedding, and he and Lauren had sat next to each other at the reception. Lauren had enjoyed talking to him, and after she'd moved to Schuyler last October, they'd gone out several times.

“Holy cow,” Carl said, staring at Tara. “You said you had a twin, but it didn't hit me until just now what that meant.”

“Sometimes I feel the same way. Tara, this is Carl Stanfield. And the deputy next to him is Noah Mercer.”

“It's nice to meet you,” Tara said.

“Same here.” Carl cocked his head. “You almost have an accent, but I can't place it.”

“I've lived in five different countries over the past ten years. There's no telling how much has rubbed off.”

“That explains it. Noah is the same—he spent most of his childhood in New Zealand and Germany.”

Tara turned to the deputy, asking about a place in Auckland that she'd visited, while Carl urged Lauren down the hall a few feet.

“I've stopped by the clinic to see you,” he said, “but you're usually with a patient.”

“They keep me pretty busy.”

“I'm sure they do. But now that you've had a chance to get more settled, I wonder if we could get together for dinner again?”

Renewed flutters went through Lauren's abdomen. She liked Carl...liked him enough that she'd excused any further dates by saying she needed to get more settled. Carl was attractive and her pulse jumped whenever she saw him, but they were incompatible, so it didn't make sense to continue.

“I'm sorry to put you off another time,” she said slowly, “but with my sister here, I shouldn't take time from her visit.” Darn it, why couldn't she just say no?

“Don't be silly,” Tara exclaimed, apparently overhearing them. “You can't put the rest of your life on hold while I'm in Montana. Go ahead.”

“Oh... I...in that case, it would be nice, Carl.”

He flashed his wide smile at her. “Great. How about Saturday night?”

“I don't know, I'm on call for the next week,” she said, still hoping he'd get the message that she didn't actually
want
to go out with him again. “I try to keep things quiet so I'll be at my best if I'm needed.”

That was the truth. Medical personnel were limited in the area, and they took turns being available for after-hours emergencies.

“I understand. Would the following Saturday work?”

Obviously he wasn't giving up, and Lauren wondered if she was unconsciously sending the wrong signals.

“Uh, sure,” she answered, unable to think of another excuse. A shred of irritation went through her. Most guys would have gotten the message with the first excuse she'd used, or at least the second. Even Billy Halloran, a notorious Schuyler flirt, had backed off when she'd told him that she wasn't free because she was painting her apartment and who knew how long it would take?

Of course, it was doubtful that sensitivity had anything to do with Billy's reaction. He'd disappeared at the speed of light, possibly worried she'd ask him to help.

Carl would have rolled up his sleeves and taken over the project, ignoring her protests. In the time they'd already spent together, his take-charge personality had been obvious, which was partly why she couldn't envision a relationship with him. Someone like her would get swept under, like a swimmer in a riptide.

“I'll drop by the clinic and we can discuss the details,” Carl said, drawing Lauren's attention back to the present. He smiled again and walked with his deputy toward the maternity wing.

Outside Tara studied her curiously. “Is something wrong? You're flushed.”

“No. Everything is fine.”

To avoid further questions, Lauren headed for the fitness trail, setting a rapid pace that Tara easily matched, though in her case she made it look like a sexy, long-legged stroll.

It was too bad they still hadn't developed the close relationship that sisters should share. That way Tara might have teased her about Carl and she could have explained that she liked him, but that she wasn't his kind of woman...the main factors being his career and her unfortunate streak of timidity.

In the beginning, her old boyfriend in Los Angeles had found those qualities attractive—it had made him feel protective and manly. But after a while Kendall had suggested she take assertiveness training and get counseling for her self-image. She'd broken up with him not long afterward.

Carl was a sheriff who'd been a big-city cop. He'd dealt with everything from traffic violators to murderers. It would take him even less time than Kendall to realize he'd rather be with someone gutsier. But she couldn't explain that to her sister, who was strong and confident enough to live and travel alone in foreign countries. They barely knew each other—what if Tara thought less of her because of it?

“You're quiet,” Tara commented after they'd circled the park twice.

“Just, um, getting my head together for work,” Lauren said. It was true, more or less. She needed to think less about her abysmal love life and more about the good things she had going, such as connecting with her long-lost sister. That was great, even if being around Tara made her feel like the Cowardly Lion in
The Wizard of Oz
.

Taking a deep breath, Lauren decided she didn't have to make a big deal out of the situation. It was just one more date. Carl hadn't suggested getting serious; he'd just asked if they could have another dinner together. She didn't have to go out with him again once it was over.

She was both relieved and a little depressed at the thought.

CHAPTER THREE

A
WEEK
LATER
Tara walked down an aisle at the grocery store, selecting spices. The restaurant food in Schuyler was tasty and certainly “indigenous,” but she was ready to vary things up with her favorite dishes from the countries she'd traveled to. Not that there was a huge selection of exotic ingredients available, but she could make do. Cooking was often a question of style as much as content.

It would also be good to experiment with recipes off the internet. In fact, she was ready to try
anything
to occupy herself. She was accustomed to working regular hours and maximizing her free time to see everything possible in the places she lived. In Schuyler she didn't have a job, and her sister had long shifts at the medical clinic. Montana scenery was stunning, but nobody could spend all day, every day, just looking at the beautiful vistas.

Before long she'd realized she would go stark raving crazy without something more to do. Fortunately, that was changing since word had gone around Schuyler about the kind of work she did. More than once she'd heard, “I understand you do bookkeeping and organize stuff.” It was a simplistic description of her professional skills, but that was okay. She needed to occupy some of her time and didn't mind trimming her fees to fit her new environment.

Today Tara was going to talk with a prospective client out in the country. His lawyer, Vanta Cooper, had contacted her, explaining that ill health had necessitated bringing in outside help. When she'd heard the name, Walt Nelson, she had immediately agreed, remembering him from the hospital.

Rather than use GPS, she studied a local map and memorized the route to the Boxing N. Shortly before two she pulled up next to a small building with a sign that identified it as the office.

“Good to see you again, Tara,” Walt said as he limped forward to meet her. “When you mentioned records management at the hospital, it gave me the idea of having you work in my office here. My lawyer's office said they'd track you down.”

“I'm glad they did, Mr. Nelson,” she agreed with a smile.

“Call me Walt. You mind if I call you Tara?”

She smiled. “Not in the least.”

“Come see the disaster zone.”

He led the way into the building's main room and Tara knew what Vanta had meant when she'd said that “paperwork isn't Walt's favorite occupation.” The chaos was obviously a long-standing condition. Papers were everywhere, and it was unlikely the ancient desk to the left had ever seen a computer.

But the room was pleasant, with windows that provided gorgeous views of rolling ranch land as well as the gardens around the house. On the right were comfortable chairs, a small sink, refrigerator, stove and coffeemaker. Plainly it was more than an office; it was also a gathering place, though she didn't know whether it was for employees or friends.

“I don't suppose what we need done here is like your work in Paris,” Walt continued. “It may seem ridiculous to you.”

“I don't think anyone's business is ridiculous,” she told him honestly. “Your needs will be different from the records management systems used by an international corporation, but I wouldn't expect that on a ranch.”

He peered at her, his faded eyes looking sad. “How did you like working in Paris and all those other places you've lived?”

Realizing he wanted more than a pat answer, Tara thought for a moment before responding. “There is nothing quite like living among people who grew up in a different culture. What's automatic for me may not be for them, and vice versa. It's an adventure.”

Heaving a sigh, Walt settled into one of the easy chairs. “So you're a Magellan of the modern age.”

“I don't have much to keep me anchored in the United States, that's all.”

“The ranch was
my
anchor...perhaps my prison, as well.”

The last words were mumbled, and Tara wasn't sure she'd understood him correctly. She sat quietly while his eyelids drooped; she wasn't in a hurry and he looked tired. After a few minutes, he shook himself and sat forward.

“My apologies. It's those blasted pain pills the doctor gave me. But I won't need them much longer. I'm set on that.” His voice was grimly determined.

While she knew she might be romanticizing the moment, Tara suspected she was seeing the grit made legendary in movie Westerns, except this wasn't two stylized hours on celluloid. It was the real thing.

“I've got to check on a new foal,” Walt said, lurching to his feet. “Go ahead and poke around. Vanta explained you work as a contractor, setting your own hours and such, which is fine with me. If you don't want to tackle such a mess, there won't be any hard feelings.”

“Don't worry, Walt. I think it's going to work out fine. Just so you know, some of the time I'll work only mornings or afternoons, depending on my other commitments and whether my sister has the time off.”

He nodded. “That's fine. Shake on it?”

Tara took his hand and was surprised by the firmness of his grip. She also realized that the odd sense of connection she'd experienced was even stronger than when she had met him at the hospital. He was different from the suave, cosmopolitan executives she normally worked with; there was something rough and genuine about Walt Nelson.

“By the way,” he added, “just to be clear,
I'm
the one hiring you, not the Boxing N.”

Not sure what the difference meant, she nodded. There could be a trust involved or something that made it important to clarify. She'd probably learn the reasons as she went along.

Once Tara was alone in the office, she began looking through various stacks and drawers, cubbyholes and shelves. There were at least fifty years of ranch records, many of them mixed up with current paperwork.

Twenty minutes later she ran across a yellowed handwritten invoice dated 1872, wherein a Zebedee Nelson recorded the sale of fifty head of cattle. The expense of the cattle drive bringing them to market was annotated on the bottom. It was a whole lot more interesting than most corporate historical records she'd seen, and as she sat studying the paper, a soft breeze came through an open window.

In Paris she'd worked in a modern high-rise, surrounded by desks, bright uniform lights and the hum of hundreds of people going about their business. This would be a nice break, at least for the time being. She had a feeling Lauren hoped she would consider staying in Schuyler, but Tara had always felt the need to be constantly moving forward. She couldn't picture giving up her career and staying in one place.

* * *

J
OSH
TURNED
OFF
his satellite phone as he rode toward the Boxing N ranch center. He was discouraged. After two days of having a help wanted ad in the local newspaper, his only calls had been from a high school senior looking for an after-school job and a retired pharmacist who'd moved to Schuyler the previous autumn and had “always wanted to be a cowboy.”

Surely it would get better. And after he got more help on the ranch, there'd be time for some of the other things that had to be done.

A silver Toyota was parked by the ranch office, and Josh frowned. In the past, his grandfather had met his cronies there because they could smoke their cigars without bothering his wife. But Walt had given up smoking years ago, and since Evelyn was gone, he no longer needed the office as a separate gathering spot. Still, old habits died hard.

After grooming Lightfoot, Josh tiredly made his way to the foreman's house and slumped into an Adirondack chair on the porch. But as two figures came out of the ranch office and stood together beside the car, Josh leaned forward. One of them was his grandfather; Walt's labored pace was impossible to mistake. But the other was a woman, and even from this distance, Josh could see she possessed very attractive curves.

Curiosity drove him to his feet, and he strode toward the office. But as he got closer, he couldn't believe his eyes. It was Tara Livingston. What the devil was
she
doing here?

“Hey, Grandpa,” he said as he came close. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” Walt said. He appeared thoroughly self-satisfied, which was instantly worrisome. “As I recall, you've already met Miss Livingston. I just hired her to get the office in order.”

Josh managed to swallow the “hell, no,” that instantly leaped into his mouth. “Really?” he choked out instead. If it wasn't one complication, it was another.

“Yep. I've been thinking about doing it, and she came along at the right moment.”

Tara's eyes sparkled, and Josh was sure she'd guessed his reaction.

“I see,” he said. “Perhaps you could have consulted me first.”

“No point,” Walt informed him stiffly. “I
told
you I'd take care of things. Tara, when will you be starting?”

“Monday.”

“Fine, fine. I'll see you then.” With that, he limped toward the main house.

Josh watched his grandfather's retreating figure in disbelief.

“I'm sorry,” he said to Tara, “there's been a mistake. This is my ranch now, and I'm still evaluating what to do with the office. Your services won't be needed.”

A smile played on her lips. “It isn't your decision. Mr. Nelson was very clear that
he
was hiring me, not the ranch.”

“That doesn't make any difference,” Josh returned quickly. “Please tell my grandfather that you can't work for him. Anyway, I understand you're here on an extended vacation. Why would you want a job?”

She shrugged, and he couldn't help noticing the way her silk blouse slid over her breasts.
Crap.
It didn't make sense—Lauren had never made him react this way.

“It really isn't a vacation, I'm here to get to know my sister,” she said. “But Lauren has her own job and I'm not used to being idle. So when folks started asking if I was available to work, I thought it was a good way to keep occupied.”

“Why the Boxing N?”

“It's as good a place as any. I'm taking contracts at more than one location, but I have a feeling this will be my favorite.”

“If you've got employment elsewhere, you don't need to work here.”

Tara's blue eyes narrowed. “It's not for you to tell me what to do.”

“That isn't what I'm doing. I was just pointing out that you don't seem to need the job here.”

“Are you
also
the arbiter of what I need?”

“I didn't say that, either,” Josh insisted.

“Sure you did. What's your problem, anyhow? I'm only asking because I'll be working at the Boxing N and your attitude affects me.”

His head was starting to spin. “Then quit.”

She shrugged. “Technically I'm a freelance contractor, but regardless, I have no intention of quitting. And if you think you can fire me, reconsider the thought. Do I need to point out again that Mr. Nelson made it very clear that I'll be working for him, not the ranch? I'll be looking out for his interests, not yours.”

Josh counted to ten, then to ten once more. She had him over a barrel. As much as he wanted to lay down the law to his grandfather, he couldn't disenfranchise the old guy. Besides, if Walt had hired Tara as his personal employee or contractor, nobody else
could
fire her. Well, since he owned the Boxing N now, he could restrict her access to the ranch, but he could imagine the explosion that would follow.

For a brief second, Josh considered trying to convince Tara to help him get Walt to be more reasonable, but she'd made it clear where her loyalties lay.

“Very well,” Josh said in a stiff, formal tone. “At the very least, I'd appreciate reports about your progress in the office.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to ask Walt for any updates he wants to share.”

She marched to her car and got behind the wheel. Waving as though they'd simply had a cordial chat, she drove down the road toward the main entrance.

Damn, she was aggravating.

His thoughts spinning, Josh returned to his porch, even more discouraged than when he'd gotten off the phone with the retired pharmacist. Without treating Walt with a disrespect he didn't deserve, Josh couldn't fire Tara, and he couldn't direct her work since he wasn't the one paying her.

A grim humor shook him.

One thing he had to give to his grandfather—he was a wily old coot. Walt had planned ahead, hired Tara and made sure she knew he was the one writing her paychecks. Josh couldn't help wondering why. There were qualified secretaries and accountants in Schuyler that Walt could have employed. Of course it was doubtful that any of them
looked
like Tara—so what was the possibility that his grandfather had been bowled over by a young woman's beauty? Not in an inappropriate way, but the way an old man appreciates the reminders of youth and a young man's vigor.

Josh didn't know, and it didn't matter. Of one thing he was sure—Walt was a stiff-necked pain in the ass and couldn't let go of controlling the ranch, but he was honorable. And on that, Josh trusted they had a small amount of common ground.

* * *

C
ARL
S
TANFIELD
PULLED
to a stop at the light and waved at Emmett Foster as he crossed in front of the sheriff's cruiser. Emmett was around sixty and ornery as sin, but Carl liked him. It was hard not to like most of the people in Schuyler. That wasn't to say his job was heaven on earth. No job—and no town—was perfect. But on average, it was considerably calmer in Schuyler than in St. Louis, where he'd worked for a good deal of his career.

St. Louis was a great place, but it was still a city. And after being a homicide detective for a decade, few things surprised Carl anymore—he'd pretty much seen the worst.