Lone Star Winter (5 page)

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Parks,” Montoya said with a grin. “I hope that we will be good neighbors.”

“Thank you for taking the time to stop by and introduce yourself,” Cy said with a noticeable lack of animation. He got a firmer grip on his injured arm. “We don't get many visitors.”

“It was my pleasure. Good day,
señor.
” Montoya smiled again, this time with faint contempt, and pulled his truck out of the driveway. Cy watched him go, arrow-straight, his mouth making a firm line in his lean, taut face.

“Mr. Parks, you are the oddest man I know,” Harley said, shaking his head. “You weren't yourself at all.”

Cy turned to him. “Who do you think that was?”

“Why, our new neighbor,” Harley said carelessly.
“Nice of him to come over and say howdy,” he added with a scowl. “Your arm bothering you?”

“Not in the least,” Cy said, both hands on his lean hips as he studied the younger man. “What did you notice about our new hardworking neighbor?”

The question surprised Harley. “Well, he was Latin. He had a bit of an accent. And he was real pleasant…”

“He was wearing a silk suit and a Rolex watch,” he said flatly. “The truck he was driving is next year's model, custom. He was wearing boots that cost more than my new yearling bull. And you think he makes that kind of money selling honey, do you?”

Harley's eyes widened. Once in a while, his boss threw him a curve. This was a damned big curve. He frowned. How had Cy noticed so much about a man he only saw for a minute or two when Harley, a trained commando he reminded himself, hadn't?

“That was one of Lopez's executives,” Cy told the younger man flatly, nodding at his wide-eyed realization. “I want you to go work cattle over near that warehouse and take a pair of binoculars with you,” Cy told his foreman. “Don't be obvious, but see who comes and goes for a few days.”

“Sir?”

“You told Eb you wanted to help keep an eye on Lopez's operation. Here's your chance.”

“Oh, I see, Mr. Scott told you to send me out there.” Harley grinned from ear to ear. “Sure. I'll be glad to do it!”

“Just make sure you aren't caught spying,” Cy told him flatly. “These people are killers. They won't hesitate if they think they're being watched deliberately.”

“I can handle myself,” Harley said with faint mockery.

“Yes, I know, you're professionally trained,” Cy drawled.

The tone made Harley feel uncertain. But he put it down to jealousy and grinned. “I know how to watch people without getting noticed,” he assured his boss. “Does Mr. Scott want tag numbers as well as descriptions of the people?”

“Yes, and pay attention to the trucks that come in.”

“Okay.”

Cy wanted to add more to those instructions, but he didn't want Harley to know everything. “Be sure you keep your mouth shut about this,” he told Harley. “Eb won't like it if he thinks you're gossiping.”

“I wouldn't want him mad at me!” Harley chuckled. “I'll keep quiet.”

“See that you do.”

Cy walked back to the house with a quick, sharp stride that reflected his anger. He'd just met a new link in Lopez's chain, probably one of his divisional managers. It would work to his advantage that he had just convinced the drug lord's associate that he was a crippled rancher with no interest in the bees except where his cattle were concerned.

Lopez thought he had it made with his “honey business” as a blind, here in little Jacobsville. But Cy was going to put a stick in his spokes, and the sooner, the better.

H
arley drove the little red car with its new water pump back to Lisa Monroe early the next morning, with Cy following in his big utility vehicle.

Lisa was overjoyed at the way the engine sounded as Harley pulled up at the front porch and revved it before he turned it off.

“It hasn't ever sounded that good before!” she enthused. “Thank you, Harley!”

“You're very welcome, ma'am,” he said, making her a mock bow with his hat held against his chest. “But I didn't fix it. I'm just delivering it.”

She laughed and Cy glowered. She and Harley were close in age, or he missed his bet. The man, despite
his bravado, was honest and hardworking and basically kind. Cy wondered how old Lisa was. Well, at least she was young enough to find Harley's company stimulating—probably much more stimulating than the company of an aging mercenary who was half-crippled and cynical….

“Won't you both come in for a cup of coffee?” she invited.

“I will,” Cy told her. “Harley, go take a look around and see what needs doing. Then find Lisa's part-time help and get them on it.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Parks,” he said with a wicked grin and turned to follow the tersely given instructions.

Lisa gave Cy a speaking look.

“Go ahead,” he invited. “Tell me that chores are get ting done by people other than you. Tell me that the south pasture is being hayed before the predicted rains day after tomorrow. Tell me,” he added mockingly, “that you've got your new calf crop vaccinated and tagged.”

She got redder by the minute. She didn't want to tell him that she couldn't get the men to take her suggestions seriously. They were throwbacks to another age, most of them were twice her age, and the madder she got, the more indulgent they became. Once they threatened to quit, they had her over a barrel and she
gave up. Hands were thin on the ground this time of year. She could barely afford to pay her employees as it was.

“Harley will get them moving,” he told her.

Her lips compressed and her eyes sparked. She looked outraged.

“I know,” he said helpfully. “It's a new age. Men and women are equals. You pay their wages and that means they need to do what you say.”

She made a gesture of agreement, still without speaking.

“But if you want people to obey, you have to speak in firm tones and tell them who's the boss. And it helps,” he added darkly, “if you hire people who aren't still living in the last ice age!”

“They were all I could find to work part-time,” she muttered.

“Did you go over to the labor office and see who was available?” he asked.

The suggestion hadn't occurred to her. Probably she'd have found young, able-bodied help there. She could have kicked herself for being so blind.

“No,” she confessed.

He smiled, and that wasn't a superior smile, either. “You aren't aggressive enough.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you're going to hire that type of man, you have to have the whip hand. I'll teach you.”

“If that means I'll end up being a local legend like you, I'm not sure I want to learn it,” she replied with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

“Old lady Monroe,” he recited, chuckling, “carries a shotgun and emasculates men in the barn.”

She flushed. “Stop that.”

“Isn't that a nicer image than sweet little Lisa who hasn't got the heart to fire a man just because he lies in wait in her bed dead drunk and stinking?”

“Cy!”

He grinned as she curled one hand into a fist. “Much better,” he said. “Now hold that thought when you speak to your lazy hands next time. In fact, don't smile at them ever again. Be decisive when you speak, and don't ask, tell. You'll get better results.”

She had to admit, she wasn't getting any results at all the way she was. On the other hand, she was still young, and feeling her way through leadership. She wasn't re ally a drill sergeant type, she had to admit, and the ranch was suffering because of it.

“I don't suppose you'd like a ranch?” she asked whimsically, and was startled when he replied immediately that he would.

“Oh.” She stared at him, poleaxed.

“I'll give you the going market price. We'll get two appraisals and I'll match the highest one. You can rent the house from me and I'll manage the cattle. And the cowboys,” he added wryly.

“It's not in very good shape,” she said honestly, and pushed her glasses back up onto her nose.

“It will be. If you're willing, I'll have my attorney draw up the papers tomorrow.”

“I'm very willing. I'll be happy to sign them. What about the appraisals?”

“I'll arrange for those. Nothing for you to worry about now.”

“If only my father hadn't been such a throwback,” she murmured, leading the way into the ramshackle house. “He thought a woman's place was in the kitchen, period. I'd much rather be working in the garden or doctoring cattle than cooking stuff.”

“Can you cook?”

“Breads and meats and vegetables,” she said. “Not with genius, but it's mostly edible.”

She poured black coffee into a mug and handed it to him. When she sat down across the table from him, he noticed the dark, deep circles under her eyes.

“You aren't sleeping much, are you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I'm still halfway in shock, I guess. Married and widowed and pregnant, and all in less
than two months. That would be enough to unsettle most women.”

“I imagine so.” He sipped his coffee. She made the decaf strong and it tasted pretty good. He studied her narrowly. “You haven't had any more problems at night, have you?”

“None at all, thanks.” She smiled. “And thank you for having my car fixed. I guess if people are going to own old cars, they need to be rich or know a lot about mechanics.”

“They do,” he agreed. “But I'll keep your little tin can on the road.”

“It's not a tin can,” she said. “It's a very nice little foreign car with an—” she searched for the right words “—eccentric personality.”

“Runs when it feels like it,” he translated.

She glared at him. “At least I don't have to have a ladder to get into it.”

He smiled. “Remind me to have a step put on just for you.”

She didn't reply, but that statement made her feel warm and safe. God knew why. She was certain he wasn't really going to modify his vehicle just for her. She'd only been in it once.

“Do you like opera?” he asked out of the blue.

She blinked. “Well, yes…”

“Turandot?”

“I like anything Puccini composed. Why?”

“It's playing in Houston. I thought we might go.”

She pinched her jean-clad leg under the table to see if she was dreaming. It felt like it, but the pain was real. She smiled stupidly. “I'd really like that.” Then her face fell. She moved restlessly and averted her eyes. “Better not, I guess.”

“You don't have to wear an evening gown to the opera these days,” he said, as if he'd actually read her mind. He smiled when her eyes came up abruptly to meet his. “I've seen students go in jeans. I imagine you have a Sunday dress somewhere.”

“I do.” She laughed nervously. “How did you know I was worried about clothes?”

“I read minds,” he mused.

She sighed. “In that case, I'd love to go. Thank you.”

He finished his coffee. “Friday night, then. I'll go round up Harley and see what he knows about your place.” He got up, hesitating. “Listen, there are some things going on around here. I don't want to frighten you, but Lopez has men in and around town. I want you to keep your doors locked and be careful about strangers.”

“I always am,” she assured him.

“Do you keep a gun?”

She grinned. “No. I have Puppy Dog.”

“Puppy Dog will get under a bed if there's trouble,” he assured her flatly. “I've still got Nels staying in the bunkhouse at night, and he's armed. All you have to do is yell. He'll hear you. He's a very light sleeper.”

“You can't be sure that Mr. Lopez means me harm.”

“I'm not. But I'm a cautious man.”

“All right,” she said. “I'll keep both eyes out for trouble.”

“I'll pick you up Friday night about five. Okay?”

She nodded. “I'll be ready.” She went with him to the front door and stood behind the screened door to study him, frowning. “Cy, is it too soon for this?”

“Because you've been a widow such a short time?” He shook his head. “I know you miss Walt. I'm not offering anything heavy, just a trip to the opera. It's very unlikely that we'll see anybody who knows us in Houston.”

“I guess you're right.” She folded both arms around herself. “The walls are beginning to close in on me.”

“I don't doubt it. A night at the opera isn't exactly a cause for gossip.”

“Of course not.” She smiled. “I'll see you Friday, then. And…thanks.”

“I get lonely, too,” he said with surprising candor. He gave her one last grin and walked out to find Harley.

 

His foreman was tight-lipped as he came striding out of the barn. When Harley forgot to be irritating, he was a cowboy and a half. Most of the men walked wide of him in a temper already. “The whole damned place is about to fall to pieces,” he said without preamble. “The hay hasn't been cut, the corn hasn't been put in the silo, there are breaks in half the fences, the calves don't even have a brand…. What the hell kind of men did Mrs. Monroe hire?”

“Lazy ones, apparently,” Cy said tightly. “Find them and put them all on notice. Lisa's selling me the place. We'll put on four new men to work this ranch and share chores with my own.”

“That's a wise decision on her part,” Harley said. “She doesn't seem to know much about the business end of cattle ranching.”

“Her father thought women weren't smart enough to learn it,” Cy mused.

“What an idiot,” Harley replied. “My mother can brand cattle right along with the cowboys, and she keeps the books for Dad.”

“A lot of women are big-time ranchers, too,” Cy agreed. “But Lisa doesn't really have the knack, or
the love, for it. Cattle ranching is hard work even if you do.”

Harley nodded. “I'll put her part-timers on notice and get the boys over here with a tractor and a combine to hay those fields and harvest the corn.”

“When you get that organized,” Cy said, “I want to know what you saw over at the honey warehouse last night.”

“Not much,” Harley had to admit. “And I got challenged on your land by a man with a rifle. Good thing there was a cow down in the pasture for me to show him,” he added with a grin. “I told him we had a problem with locoweed and offered to show him where it grew. He went back on his side of the fence and didn't say another word.”

“That was a stroke of luck,” Cy remarked. “Because we don't have any locoweed.”

“We do now,” Harley murmured. “I set out a couple of plants and netted them, just in case I get challenged again. Now that I have a legitimate reason to be out there, they won't pay much attention to me. And if they go looking for locoweed,” he added with a mocking smile, “why, they'll find it, won't they?”

Cy smiled at the younger man. “You're a treasure, Harley.”

“Glad you noticed, boss, and how about that raise?”

“Don't push your luck,” came the dry reply. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Sure thing.”

 

Cy drove to the lawyer's office the next morning to discuss the land buy. Blake Kemp was tall, thirtyish, with a gray streak in his black, wavy hair, and pale blue eyes. He was the terror of the Jacobsville court circuit, although he looked mild-mannered and intelligent. Deceptive, Cy mused, studying him, because Kemp had a bite like a rattlesnake in court.

“I'm going to buy the Monroe place,” Cy said without preamble. “Lisa can't run it alone, and she hasn't the capital to make improvements or even necessary maintenance.”

“Good decision on her part,” Blake told him. “And on yours. It's good land, and it adjoins your property.” He pursed his chiseled lips. “Is that the only merger you're contemplating?”

Cy's eyes narrowed. “She's only been widowed two weeks,” he pointed out.

Blake nodded. “I know that. But she's going to have a hard time paying rent. She doesn't even have a job anymore.”

Cy studied him evenly.

“Well, I guess I could use a receptionist,” he said. “Callie Kirby is my paralegal, and she can't really handle the research and the phones at the same time. Besides, Lisa worked for a colleague of mine last year. She knows her way around a law office.”

“What happened to the brunette who works with Callie?” Cy asked.

“Gretchen's gone off to Morocco with a girlfriend from Houston,” Blake said with a chuckle. “She spent the past few years nursing her mother through a fatal bout of cancer,” he added solemnly. “And then the first man who took a shine to her insurance money broke her young heart. She needed a change of scene, and she said she doesn't want to work in a law office when she comes back. So there's a job available, if Lisa wants it.”

“I'll tell her. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “We all like Lisa. She's had a rough deal, one way or another.”

“She has indeed. Now, about those appraisals…”

 

When Cy came to pick Lisa up for their trip to the opera, he was wearing a navy sports coat with dark slacks and a white shirt. His tie combined red and navy in a paisley print. He looked dignified and very hand
some. Lisa was glad he hadn't worn a dinner jacket, be cause she had nothing that dressy in her small wardrobe. The best she could find was a simple gray jersey dress with long sleeves and a skirt that fell to her calves. She covered it with her one luxury, a lightweight black microfiber coat that was warm against the unseasonably cool autumn winds. Her hair was in a neat, complicated braid and she wore more makeup than usual to disguise her dark-circled eyes. She slept badly or not at all lately, and not completely because she missed Walt. She was having some discomfort that concerned her. She knew that pregnancies could fail in the early weeks, and it bothered her. She really needed to talk to her doctor when she went for the next visit. It might be nothing, but she didn't want to take any chances with her baby.