LITMIR.BIZ

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      Taken aback, Rebecca stared at the woman for a second before finding her voice. “I beg your pardon?”

      “Who are you?” the woman demanded again. “And what are you doing in Colson?”

      “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.” Rebecca eyed the woman. “Do I know you, ma’am?”

      “You most certainly do not. Nor are you likely to.” The woman drew herself up, chin lifting haughtily. “And let me warn you, miss, whatever you’re planning, it won’t work.”

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rebecca was beginning to wonder if the woman had mistaken her for someone else.

      “Don’t play the innocent with me,” the woman said. “Just because you’ve got Charlie’s green eyes and black hair doesn’t prove a thing.”

      “You must have me confused with someone else.”

      “And if you stir up that old scandal again, you’ll be sorry,” the woman went on, as if Rebecca hadn’t spoken.

      This time, she didn’t answer. Instead, she pointedly took a step back and held the door wider.

      The impeccably dressed woman tilted her chin higher and swept past Rebecca and into the cafe.

      Shaking her head in puzzlement, Rebecca paused on the curb, waiting for a truck to pass before crossing the wide street to her car. The drive back to the Rand Ranch gave her plenty of time to go over the strange conversation, but when she drove into the ranch yard and braked in front of the house, Jackson pushed open the screen door and the sight of him drove the incident from her mind.

      Annoyed at the swift surge of pleasure that quickened her heartbeat and breathing, she drew a deep breath, gathered her briefcase, purse and light shopping bag and left the car.

      She joined him on the porch, aware that his gaze hadn’t left her on the walk from car to house. “Hello,” she said pleasantly, proud of hard-won composure that kept her voice even.

      “Afternoon.” He held the door for her. “If you don’t have something you need to do right now, I thought I’d take you on a tour of the outbuildings. Or we can do it after dinner tonight, if you’d rather.”

      “No, now is fine.” Business, she reminded herself. This is business and he’s just another client. “Give me ten minutes to change into jeans and I’ll be right with you.”

      Jackson nodded. Rebecca hurried up the stairs, dropped her packages on the bed and pulled jeans and a cotton shirt from their hangers. She stripped off the white skirt and top, quickly slipped them onto the two hangers she’d just emptied, and stepped into the jeans, yanking them up her legs and shrugging into the pale blue shirt. She buttoned the shirt with swift efficiency and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans before slipping a belt into the jean loops.

      It took only moments to locate a pair of socks in her drawer, pull them on and tug on worn but polished brown hiking boots, lacing them with quick movements. Although she’d never hiked in the California mountains, she loved the boots for their practical toughness in the city’s winter rain and cold.

      She glanced in the mirror, smoothed her hair with a few quick strokes of her brush and left the room.

      Jackson was standing just where she’d left him, his hat tugged low over his brow, arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the porch post, staring out across the rolling pasture that stretched to the buttes edging the horizon.

      He turned when Rebecca pushed the screen door open, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe in one swift glance, generating a surge of heat.

      “You should wear a hat,” he commented, plucking a straw cowboy hat from the seat of a rocking chair and handing it to her. “The sun can be dangerous if you’re not used to it.”

      “Thanks.” Rebecca ignored the rush of awareness when his fingers brushed hers. His long strides made nearly two of hers, and he was ahead of her before they reached the gate. He glanced back at her and immediately slowed.

      “Sorry.” He held the gate wide and Rebecca went through ahead of him. “The basic structure of most of the buildings was solid, but all of them needed a lot of work.” They set off across the lot toward the outbuildings. “A couple of cattle sheds were too far gone to save so we pulled them down. We’ll rebuild them after finishing the repairs to the barn.”

      “What happened? Why did the previous owner allow the buildings to deteriorate so badly?” Rebecca asked as they stepped from the hot sunlight into the shadowy barn. Curious, she gazed upward, her eye drawn to the aged rafters visible through a hole in the hayloft floor above her. The pungent scent of raw lumber mingled with the lingering smells of hay, leather and animals.

      “I doubt he meant to,” Jackson answered. “But he was over ninety years old when he passed on, and from what the neighbors tell me, he was a recluse. Running this ranch alone would be a tough job for a young man, let alone a man as old as Eli. Not only are there buildings and equipment to maintain, but miles of fence to repair. At the end, he was running only a few head of cattle and most of those were wild as jackrabbits. I doubt he even knew how many he had.”

      “Do you?”

      “Do I what?” He glanced at her, a small frown drawing a V between his eyebrows.

      “Do you know how many cattle you have?”

      He shook his head. “I haven’t got a clue. I haven’t had time to ride the pastures and round up the cattle that belonged to old Eli. I spend most Saturdays or Sundays riding the fence line, trying to keep enough strands of wire upright to hold the few wild steers and cows that belong to me on Rand pasture and off of Bowdrie grass.”

      “Bowdrie? Is that Victoria Bowdrie? Is she your neighbor?” Rebecca asked with interest.

      “Cully and Quinn Bowdrie own the spread to the west of me and Victoria is Quinn’s wife. Why?”

      “No reason. I met Victoria Bowdrie today, in fact. She’s the reason I went into Colson this morning. There were a couple of small changes to your contract that I had to initial.”

      “The wording that moved the due dates of your reports and the payment delivery dates?” he asked.

      “Yes.”

      “You folks are always so picky about a couple of days?” he asked, eyeing her with curiosity.

      “We at Bay Area Investments prefer to call it ‘paying attention to detail,’” she responded with a touch of wry humor. Her stepfather had been a stickler for small details and her mother continued the practice. Still, she wondered why her mother had insisted that she personally initial the minor changes to the contract. She also wondered why her mother had wanted it done immediately.

      The list of things that baffled Rebecca about her mother’s directions for handling the Rand Ranch investment was growing longer by the day.

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