Lone Star Winter: The Winter Soldier. Diana Palmer
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“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.
Chapter Three
Harley 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.