Corporate Cowboy. Pamela Bauer
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groaned. “Dad should never have encouraged you to go to New York.”
But her father had urged her to go. Since childhood she had dreamed of living anywhere but on the ranch. She had been consumed with a need to explore the world outside of North Dakota, to soak up all the excitement she knew had to be happening in the big city. As soon as she had graduated college with her degree in art history, she went in search of that dream.
She took a job in an art gallery where she discovered that the life she had fantasized was not all she expected it to be. As she gradually became less enchanted with the bright lights of the city, she began to realize that although she loved art, what she really wanted was to be with her horses in the wide open spaces of North Dakota. After three years she had packed up her things and moved home. Her only regret about leaving the city was that she had to leave the man she loved.
At least she thought she had been in love with Steven Delancey. Now she knew that she should have ended their relationship when she had told him she was quitting her job and moving back to North Dakota.
He hadn’t tried to convince her to change her mind. Instead he had acted relieved that she had made the decision to leave New York, telling her he would be able to get more work done if she wasn’t around to distract him. Kacy knew now that that’s all she had been—a distraction. An up-and-coming lawyer wanting to make partner in his law firm, Steven was focused—too focused. For him, work was more than a way to earn a living. It was an obsession.
No woman would ever be number one in Steven’s life. Work would always come first, because his whole life centered around his profession. A wife and children would always take a back seat.
It was not the kind of life Kacy wanted—to be second fiddle to a job. And she did want marriage and a family—something she wasn’t sure would ever be on Steven’s agenda.
Six months ago she hadn’t wanted to admit that it was over. Now she could hardly believe it had taken her this long to let it go. The only reason their relationship had lasted as long as it did was because she had made it work, not because of any effort on his part. That’s why when his Dear Joan letter came she felt so angry. He was the one calling it quits when she was the one who had done all the work.
Kacy had not been happy in New York, not just because of what had happened with Steven. She knew now that it had been foolish of her to think that working in a concrete and glass world would make her happy. She needed open spaces and fresh air. For that’s what was in her blood—the smell of leather and dust, the sight of cattle bunched in the corner of a pasture, waves of buffalo grass and sage, and sunsets that seemed to go on forever making one realize just how small a speck anyone is on this earth. Give her a man in jeans and boots any day over any of the suits pressing the city pavement. She preferred to live in a world of Levi’s and leather rather than wool and silk.
“Didn’t anybody tell this suit that the reason the program works is because it’s a team effort? I say let him rent a car and drive out here himself,” she grumbled.
“Kacy, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable as in get in the van and go get him?” she asked dryly.
“Doesn’t it beat reciting poetry around the campfire?”
“It’s too wet for a campfire,” she reminded him.
“Then we’ll have to have poetry around the fireplace.” He grinned. “Come on. Be a sport. Other than the orientation meeting, you won’t be missed this evening.”
Kacy knew what he said was true. She was the public relations person at the Triple J which meant she usually saw to it that guests were comfortable at all times. Her other job was to give riding lessons and lead trail rides.
“Please say you’ll do it,” he begged.
She tried to give him the stubborn look the Judds were noted for, but failed. “All right. But I’m not taking that big old honkin’ van. I’ll drive my pickup.”
“You can’t pick up a CEO in that beat-up old pickup!”
Kacy didn’t appreciate anyone referring to Bertha as either “old” or “beat-up.” “Do you want me to do it or not?”
Dusty handed her a white placard with “The Triple J” written across the front in large black letters. “You probably won’t need this, but better take it anyway.”
“You’re lucky I have such a strong sense of family duty,” she mumbled as she took the placard from him.
On her way out she grabbed a slicker from the coat room. It was a good thing because before she had reached the airport, rain fell in a steady downpour. She pulled up in front of the terminal in the loading zone, looking for signs of a suit. No one waited near the entrance.
She felt her muscles tense. For three years she had made airports a regular stop on her agenda. Her clothes had spent more time in her suitcase than her closet. Buying art for the gallery, arranging for showings, traveling cross country had all sounded glamorous to her at one point in her life.
Now she knew better. She was grateful she was no longer earning frequent flyer miles. There were no more long hours spent trying to convince a temperamental artist to agree to a showing, no more frustrating conversations with fussy patrons with outrageous demands, no more dates with men whose only goal in life is to get ahead in the business world.
Instead of worsted wool and linen, she could wear denim and leather. She was done trying to be a sophisticated city woman. In her heart she was a cowgirl and there was no point in pretending to be anything else.
Not that it mattered. Her days of doing what she was supposed to do were over…except of course when it came to the ranch. To keep the Triple J in the family, she would do anything, including cater to stuffy businessmen who didn’t have a clue what it really meant to be a rancher.
Knowing she couldn’t stay in the loading zone indefinitely, she drove into the parking lot. Before getting out, she buttoned up the slicker, cursing the fact that she had to get out in the pouring down rain to go find this guy. She grabbed the square Triple J placard and made a dash to the door.
It was nearly deserted inside the airport except for a couple of airline personnel. Kacy’s eyes scanned the small waiting room and saw a man leaning up against the wall, his back to her as he spoke on the telephone. He wore a suit and carried a briefcase. Kacy figured it had to be Austin Bennett, the CEO of Bennett Industries.
As she walked toward him she could hear the heels of her boots clack against the floor. She expected the sound would cause him to turn around and look to see who was walking toward him. It didn’t. He just kept on talking, loudly enough so that anyone in the area could have heard his end of the conversation. It didn’t take Dr. Ruth to figure out that he was having a lovers’ quarrel.
When she heard him say, “Of course I care about you, Daphne.” Kacy’s boots came to a halt.
Before she could take a step backward, she heard, “It’s not a question of my feelings for you…Please don’t cry. Daphne, stop. Do you think I want to spend a week with people who say yee-haw more than they do hello? Daphne?”
He pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared into the earpiece. “Damn,” he muttered, then hung the phone up.
Without even seeing the man’s face or speaking to him Kacy knew she wasn’t going to like him. In a few phrases he seemed to have confirmed her worst feelings about men in suits. She couldn’t help but wonder if Daphne was his girlfriend or his mistress.
She glanced at his hands. No rings on any of his fingers. A flash of gold showed beneath a crisp white cuff whenever he moved those hands. Probably a Rolex watch. It would go along with the Italian leather shoes and the Armani suit. And then there was his fragrance. Kacy had walked past the men’s counter in Macy’s department store enough times to know that it was not a cheap bottle of splash-on from the drugstore.
No, this man had money. And as much as she hated to admit it, he did smell good.