The Founding Father. Diana Palmer
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caught himself wondering if there was some sort of a connection between the kid and the editor, then decided probably not. Saunders wasn’t that unusual a name. Most likely it was just a coincidence. Unlike his brother, he believed that there was such a thing as coincidences and moreover, he believed that they happened more than just once in a while.
“You talked to Stan Saunders?” Kim asked, surprised.
Looking at the tall, dark-haired man for the first time—really looking at him, she realized that he might be the main man she was supposed to interview. And then again, she wouldn’t have been able to actually swear to it. It hadn’t been a very good picture, just something she’d managed to find in a local newspaper article.
“What about?” she asked, still suspicious.
“He got worried when he couldn’t reach you on your cell phone.” Garrett remained where he was. He had a feeling that if he tried to get closer, she just might run. Not that there was anywhere to run to, but he’d still have to catch her and it was too hot for that kind of exertion. “He asked me to find you.”
“You’re Jackson?” she asked, still a little on her guard but she had to admit that she was feeling less defensive than she’d been a minute ago.
“Garrett,” he corrected. “The other White Eagle,” he added with a touch of humor.
He had a nice smile, she thought. But then, she’d read somewhere that Ted Bundy had a nice smile. Still, she began to relax.
“Well, Garrett-the-other-White-Eagle, you have no cell reception out here,” she complained. And then to prove her point, she held up the phone that still wasn’t registering a signal.
Garrett nodded. “It’s been known to happen on occasion,” he acknowledged.
She was right. This was a hellhole. “How long an occasion?” she asked.
The shrug was quick and generally indifferent, as if there were far more important matters to tend to. “It varies.” He nodded at her compact. “What’s wrong with your car?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Nothing, I just didn’t want to drive it if I didn’t know where I was going.” A small pout accompanied the next accusation. “I lost the GPS signal.”
Garrett took that in stride. Nothing unusual about that either, he supposed, even though neither he nor anyone he knew even had a GPS in their car. They relied far more on their own instincts and general familiarity with the area.
He did move just a little closer now. He saw that she was watching him, as if uncertain whether or not to trust him yet. He could see her side of it. After all, it was just the two of them out here and she only had his word for who he was.
“You can follow me, then,” he told her, then added with a smile that was intended to dazzle her—several of Miss Joan’s waitresses had told him his smile was one of his best features, “Consider me your guiding light.”
You’re cute, no doubt about that, but I’ll hold off on the whole guiding-light thing, if you don’t mind, Kim thought.
She stifled a sigh as she got in behind the wheel of her car. She knew she should have dug in and fought getting stuck with this assignment.
Well, Kim thought wryly, following close behind Garrett, she had to admit that this was certainly different. She was definitely not accustomed to being treated to the rear view of a horse.
Granted, Garrett created a rather intriguing, captivating specimen of manhood, sitting atop his horse the way he was, but she hadn’t come here to stare at the back of some man, muscular and impressive though he might appear to be.
Garrett White Eagle—if that was who he really was and she had only his word for that—seemed nice enough, but for all she knew, that engaging smile of his could be hiding the soul of a sadist.
A sadist who lured trusting women off to some obscure hideaway where no one would ever find them—or her—until years later.
A hideaway in a hole-in-the-wall. Now there was irony for you. Maybe she should flee now while she still could.
Kim’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and she was all set to execute a U-turn and make her getaway when she saw it.
A ranch house in the distance.
So there really was a ranch out here. Maybe this was actually all on the level after all, which meant that Garrett White Eagle actually was Garrett White Eagle, just as he claimed to be.
Kim’s relief at spotting the ranch—civilization at last—was rather short-lived when she took a closer look at the actual structure she was driving toward.
Garrett turned around just then, as he had been doing every couple of minutes to make sure that she was still following him.
“Something wrong?” Garrett asked, pulling up on Wicked’s reins.
Even though he was leading the way and going so slowly he was afraid Wicked would fall asleep in midstep, the woman didn’t exactly fill him with confidence about her navigational skills.
He saw the stunned expression on Kim’s face. Her mouth had all but dropped open.
Now what?
When her eyes shifted toward him, he saw the confusion in them.
“Where’s the main house?” she asked, then said, “That’s the cook’s quarters, right?”
Garrett inclined his head, as if in agreement. “Uh-huh. The cook’s quarters, the main ranch hand’s quarters, Jackson’s quarters—along with his wife, Debi—and, oh yes, my quarters, too.”
“All of you live there?” she asked, as if the concept hadn’t quite sunk in.
“Uh-huh.” His eyes never left her face.
Kim’s eyes widened as her driving definitely slowed down to almost a crawl. It was as if her little car had gone on automatic pilot and was now driving itself.
She chewed on her lower lip before asking, “That’s the main house?” If she was trying to hide the appalled note in her voice, she was failing.
He had to admit, after having talked to her for a couple of minutes, her reaction didn’t come as much of a surprise.
Garrett laughed. “Let me guess, you were expecting South Fork.”
Her eyebrows knitted together, as she struggled to hide her disappointment over the building she saw. “South Fork?” she echoed. “What’s that?”
“Something obviously before your time,” he told her. Then, not wanting to seem old in her eyes, he added, “Before mine, too. Except that I like watching old, classic TV programs. To answer your question, South Fork was this big, sprawling fictional ranch just outside of Dallas that belonged to this really rich family whose members were always arguing and at each other’s throats all the time. But I’ve got to admit, the ranch house they had was a thing of beauty,” he told her. “This might not be South Fork,” he allowed, “but it’s all ours.”
There was no missing the pride in his voice.
To each his own, Kim thought, stifling the urge to shrug at his response. If that ranch house up ahead had been hers, she would have done whatever she needed to in order to make it look better in a hurry—and then she would have sold it as fast as she could before the buyer could think twice about the wisdom of getting stuck with a rundown house and a ranch that wasn’t producing much of anything except work.
As if reading her mind, Garrett leaned down from his horse and promised, “It’ll grow on you.”
She wasn’t going to be here long enough for that to