Cowboy Lessons. Pamela Britton
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gave him a look of mock sympathy. “I doubt you’d have been mourned for too long.”
“Thanks,” he said. Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for being snippy. But still…He really had saved her father from being evicted, because he knew for a fact someone else had been right behind him ready to pay the tax bill. Literally. The guy had been at the window with him. But he decided not to argue the point.
“I really don’t intend to turn your father out.”
She didn’t look in the least bit grateful for his intervention. As a matter of fact, she looked like that model he’d dated, right after he’d told her he thought she looked cute now that she’d gained some weight.
“You don’t intend to turn him out,” she said, shifting her weight onto one foot in a hip-jutting motion that Scott couldn’t help but notice was really sexy. “Well, gee, Mr. Beringer, thanks ever so much. Considering this ranch has been in my family for three generations, that’s very kind of you.”
“Kindness is my middle name.”
He’d been trying to make a joke. She didn’t take it that way.
“Get out,” she grated through teeth clenched like Thurston Howell’s from Gilligan’s Island. “Forget about the horse. I’ll have my father mail you your money back.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s kind of hard to be a cowboy without a horse.”
AMANDA THOUGHT SHE’D misheard him. Frankly, she must have had the same expression on her face as he’d had when she’d told him to get off her father’s land.
No, his land.
She fought back a hiss of anger. Why the heck her father had waited until today to tell her about the tax lien, she had no idea, but it was hard to say who she was more angry with: her father for not sharing the trouble the ranch was in, or Mr. Scott Beringer, Silicon Valley billionaire.
Oh, yeah, she knew who he was. She’d recognized him the moment she’d seen him at her feet. Her father’s robber baron was none other than the reclusive boy wonder of the software industry.
“What do you mean, ‘be a cowboy’?”
He smiled in a friendly sort of way, not that she had any intention of being that. “I want to learn to be a cowboy. Well, a rancher, really.”
She digested the words for a second while she tried to come to grips with the fact that he really must be the nutcase the press made him out to be. A formidable nutcase, she reminded herself. Someone who did whatever it took to get what he wanted, at least if the newspapers were to be believed. But it was obviously true, because look how he’d acquired their land.
“Mr. Beringer, I think you’ve been inhaling too many silicon fumes.”
He shrugged. Puffs of dust rose from his dirty red-and-white-checkered shirt. He looked ridiculous. Like a cross between Gene Autry and Buddy Holly with those thick-framed black glasses and wide green eyes. And yet…cute.
Ack. Where the heck had that thought come from?
“Why not? Maybe I need to take life a little less seriously. Stop and smell the roses, if you will. Or the manure as the case may be.”
“So you looked around for a ranch to steal?”
“I didn’t steal it. And, no, that’s not why I did it. Frankly, it wasn’t until this very moment that I realized I have a hankering to learn to ride the range.”
“Ride the range?”
“Sure. Herd cattle. Cook over a campfire. That sort of thing.”
“That sort of thing,” she repeated because she really couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You think it’s that easy?” She snapped her fingers to illustrate. “Have you any idea how much work a ranch is?”
“So, then, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll sell the land back to you.”
For the second time, Amanda felt speechless. “You’ll do what?”
“Sell it back to you.”
“Mr. Beringer—”
“Scott,” he insisted.
Scott seemed like the wrong name for him. Attila. Genghis. Those seemed more appropriate.
“Scott,” she said mildly, even though inside she felt as if she’d woken up in the middle of a Saturday Night Live skit. “My father is old. And he’s been ill lately. Certainly not well enough to teach you the ropes.”
“Then you teach me.”
“Oh, no. No. No. No.” She waved her hands and shook her head, that mane of hair of hers bouncing around her shoulders.
“Sure, why not? I leave for Singapore tomorrow. We can start my horse lessons when I get back in a week.”
“Horse lessons?”
“Yeah. I’ll need to learn to ride my new horse.”
He really must be insane.
And yet, what if he were serious? What if he really would give her the opportunity to buy the ranch back? Could she pass that up?
“No. I can’t do it.” And she wouldn’t, no matter how tempting Beelzebub’s offer. “I have a busy life, Mr. Beringer, and I don’t have time to baby-sit.” Although with the ranch gone, maybe she would.
“But I promise to be a good baby. No crying. No whining. And most important, no dirty diapers.” He smiled a jack-o’-lantern grin.
But Amanda was impervious to his charms. “No.”
He looked disappointed. He really did. “Well,” he said, pulling a business card from his shirt pocket as if he’d expected to run into a fellow tycoon out here. Unbelievable. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
She almost didn’t take the card. Almost, but he waved it in front of her in a way that’d make it rude if she didn’t. Besides, her father had always taught her to be polite. He was the new owner. She should be nice to him.
New owner.
Her hand clenched the card, twisting the paper.
He must have seen it because she thought she saw his face lose some of its spark. Well, too bad. She’d find another way to get the place back, that she vowed. She crossed her arms in front of her, telling him with her eyes that he should just leave.
They stared at each other for a full ten seconds before he finally said. “Okay. Well, then. I guess I’ll be going.”
“Well then, see you later.”
“Bye.”
But he still didn’t leave right away. Instead he looked at her kind of strangely. As if he was memorizing her or something.
“Have a nice day,” he said.
Have a nice day? Was he playing a scene from Leave It to Beaver?
She watched him turn and walk away.
Scott Beringer wanted to be a cowboy.
She should teach him how to be one. And make sure he hated every moment of it.
He climbed into a brand-new Mercedes, which, by the looks of it, probably cost more than all the back taxes he must have paid. The thought depressed her. How could they possibly hope to pay the man back?
“What’d he say?”
Amanda turned to her father, a man nearly as tall as she was, but who seemed to be shrinking daily. His blue eyes had gone rheumy in recent years, but they were still bright. Beneath a cap of gray hair his face looked red, though whether caused by drink or disappointment,