The Rancher Next Door. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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He stood in the living room of the Primrose Ranch house, watching Miss Mim pack up the last of her cherished travel guides and books. The community librarian and veteran traveler was like a second mother to all the kids in Laramie, maybe because she’d never married or had children of her own. Trevor had grown up knowing he could confide in her. “You and I had an understanding.”
Miss Mim handed him the dispenser of packing tape. As always, she was dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit that clashed with her flame-red hair. Moving more like a twenty-year-old than the sixty-eight-year-old woman she was, she patted him on the arm, then pointed to the box. “I think the ‘understanding’ was more on your part, dear, than mine.”
Trevor bent to line up the cardboard flaps. The tape made a ripping sound as it left the spool. “What do you mean?” he demanded, pressing the adhesive on the box with the flat of his palm.
Miss Mim unfolded the last cardboard moving carton and turned it over so Trevor could tape up the bottom of the box. She smiled at him fondly as he assisted her. “You have no problem making up your mind. And you always tell people what you want.”
“You just don’t listen,” Rebecca Carrigan said, coming into the room.
Trevor hadn’t known Rebecca was on the premises. It figured she would be. He turned to square off with her for the second time that day, felt his senses kick into hihgh gear. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. It was the way she moved—with a kind of sexy, inherent grace. The way her lips curled softly and her chin tilted stubbornly. The slender curves hidden beneath the pink cotton shirt and faded jeans—along with her straight and silky honey blond hair, challenging golden brown eyes and delicate features—made it impossible for him to look away. Even though it was abundantly clear she wished he would disappear. “How would you know whether I pay attention or not?” he asked.
Rebecca shrugged in mute superiority and gestured at their surroundings. She took the deed out of her pocket and waved it in front of him like a matador waving a cape in front of a bull. “Case in point, cowboy, since this place is now mine, not yours.”
Trevor felt like pawing the ground. Maybe because he had never been so ticked off, disappointed, and yes—humiliated. Figuring he would deal with Rebecca Carrigan later, he turned back to Miss Mim. “I told you I would buy The Primrose from you, at whatever price you deemed fair.”
Miss Mim straightened and stated patiently, “And I said I would keep that in mind.”
Trevor took over the job of fitting the last of her books into the carton. “And then sold it to Rebecca without giving me a chance to even make a bid?”
Miss Mim stood back, to watch Rebecca load the filled boxes onto a moving dolly. “She needs the land, dear. You already have a ranch.”
Frowning—it went against his grain to let a woman lift things when he was there and could do it for her—Trevor brushed Rebecca aside. “A ranch that you know I would like to expand.”
Miss Mim led the way to the front door and held it while Trevor pushed the dolly through. “Perhaps you can make the same arrangement with her that you’ve had with me, regarding grazing rights.”
Rebecca followed them to Miss Mim’s aging Cadillac. She fit the suitcases into the backseat, while Trevor set the cartons in the already-crammed trunk. Rebecca closed the door. Trevor shut the trunk. The warm April air was scented with primroses and the earthier smells of new grass, sunshine and grazing cattle. Despite this being one of his busiest times of year on the ranch, it was also the most pleasurable. Well, not this year.
Rebecca flashed him another provoking smile.
“Not going to happen, Miss Mim,” Rebecca said with a defiant toss of her head. “In fact,” her eyes claimed and held his, “I need Trevor to move his herd off my land as soon as possible. Hopefully, today.”
Trevor did a double take. He’d expected trouble from Rebecca Carrigan, but not this kind. “You can’t be serious.”
Rebecca’s smile faded. “Oh, but I am.”
Miss Mim chuckled and got her car keys out of her handbag. “You two are going to get along splendidly!”
Like hell they were, Trevor thought.
“HOW SOON CAN I EXPECT you to move your cattle?” Rebecca asked, the moment Miss Mim had driven off.
Trevor turned back to Rebecca, a stunned expression on his face. “Where is she going?”
Trying hard not to think what it was going to be like having this sexy know-it-all for a neighbor, Rebecca replied, “Laramie Gardens Home For Seniors. She’s the new social director.”
“She’s supposed to be retired.”
“Yes, I know.” Rebecca turned her glance to the three pastures located at the rear of the property. The square plots were each ten acres, and surrounded by an aging brown split rail fence. A ten-acre hay field sat behind that. The house, barn and detached garage were situated at the front of the property, on the ten acres nearest the road. The Circle Y and Trevor’s Wind Creek butted up on either side of her. She was now living smack-dab in the middle of two extremely ambitious men, both of whom coincidentally wanted her property for their own. Wasn’t this going to be fun?
“So why is Miss Mim taking another job?”
Rebecca reluctantly directed her attention back to her “visitor.” What was it about the McCabe men that made them think they had to know everything? “Apparently, Miss Mim has done all the traveling she wants now, and sitting around all day isn’t agreeing with her. A lot of her friends already live at the seniors’ home.”
Trevor folded his arms in front of him. He reminded her of a general surveying his troops. “When is she going to move the rest of her stuff?”
“They’ve given her a furnished apartment, as part of the job. So all she’s taking is her clothing and personal affects. The rest she sold to me as part of the deal.”
“I want to buy the ranch from you.”
Rebecca blinked. “What?”
“Add ten percent to whatever you paid her for it, and I’ll pay it to you.”
“Only ten percent?” she mocked. “Vince Owen has already been here and offered an additional fifteen.”
“You’re kidding.”
Rebecca let her too-sweet smile fade. “Do I look like I’m kidding, cowboy?”
The corners of his mouth took on a downward slant. “What did you say?” he demanded.
“The same thing I’m telling you,” Rebecca shot back. “No.”
She wasn’t surprised to see that Trevor looked relieved about that. Which led her to the next item on her agenda. “Back to the cattle. I need you to move ’em as soon as possible. And you’ll need to make sure you clean up after them, or in other words, remove all the dung. I want those pastures clean as can be when I put my alpacas out there.”
“You’re planning to use all three?”
Rebecca nodded. “One for the females, one for the herd- sires and another for the nursing crias and their mothers.”
“How big a herd are you starting with?”
“Ten. But I expect to expand rapidly.” Rebecca gave him a moment to absorb all that. “So, can I expect this will be done today?”
Trevor begrudgingly relented. “I’ll have to get some temporary help. I don’t employ anyone else on a regular basis.” He paused. “That may take a few days to arrange.”
She glanced out at the far pasture, where he had some thirty steers grazing. “Or you could start right now,” she suggested with a discreet lift of her brow, “doing it yourself.” Seriously, how long could it take?
His hazel eyes darkened. “I can