She bit the inside of her lip to control a chuckle.“I see.Want me to get Duane to help you off?”She figured that would light a fire under him.
It did.He wasn’t far wrong about being welded in, though.Moisture, heat and dust had formed something similar to glue between denim and leather.His backside came out of the saddle with a sound like a cow pulling its hoof out of the mud.
Freddy’s laughter broke through.She couldn’t help it.She’d probably be fired before the day was out, anyway.And once she started laughing, she couldn’t stop.She laughed until tears streamed down her mud-caked cheeks.
Ry’s bowlegged hobble as he walked over to her made her laugh even harder.
“Think it’s pretty funny, do you?”he asked.
She nodded, too overcome with giggles to speak.
He stood there, legs spread and hands on his hips while she gasped and tried to regain her composure, only to have a new fit of hysterics overtake her.
Duane rode over to the edge of the corral.“You got a problem over there?”he called.
“I think she’s having a fit,” Ry said.“Any suggestions?”
“Nope.Never seen her get like that.”
Freddy laughed even harder.
“Only one thing for it,” Ry said, coming toward her with his bowlegged swagger.
“Now, Ry,” she said, starting to hiccup as she backed away from him.
“This always works in the movies.”
He was surprisingly quick, considering his condition.She whooped in protest as he threw her over his shoulder like a sack of feed.
“Put me down!”she screamed, kicking and struggling.But it was too late.Water splashed over her head as he dumped her in the horse trough.After the first shock, it felt surprisingly good and not half as cold as the snow-fed pond.She came up for air slowly and pushed her hair out of her face to find several sets of eyes, including Mikey’s and Maureen’s, focused on her.The guests seemed fascinated, but Duane looked terrified.He’d never seen anyone toss his foreman in the horse trough before, and he obviously expected all hell to break loose.
Then she glanced at Ry, who was regarding her with his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze enigmatic.She wanted to strangle him for making a spectacle of her.She longed to lash out at him for being a bully and a cad.But the cool water had brought her to her senses.A man who would toss her in the horse trough certainly had enough moxie to clinch a deal on the ranch.That meant he would soon hold her fate in the palm of his hand.And staying on the ranch had always been, and continued to be, the most important thing in the world to her.
She met his gaze.“Thanks,” she said sweetly.“I needed that.”Then she climbed out of the trough with as much dignity as she could manage, considering she was a walking waterfall.One boot stayed in the trough and she had to fish it out.She poured the water onto the ground, put the boot on and took the other off to repeat the process.Then she reached for her hat floating on the surface of the water and settled it on her head.Water drizzled down her face as if she were standing in the shower.She blew the drops away.“If you’ll please unsaddle the horses, I’ll go up to the house and change into something dry so I can tend Mikey’s wound.”
“Be glad to,” he said amiably, his blue eyes dancing.There was something deeper burning there, too, something that might have been admiration.
Freddy glanced over at Duane.“Can I borrow your truck?”
“Keys are on the floor,” Duane said, looking totally amazed.“Need any help?”
“Not at the moment.”Back straight and leaving a dribbling trail of water in the dust, she marched over to Duane’s old truck and climbed in.
ChapterNine
Eager to call Joe Gilardini, Ry put off his Jacuzzi and took a quick shower before changing into khaki slacks and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow.As physically miserable as he’d been wearing Curtis’s and Duane’s cowboy garb, he already missed it.
A light snack had been waiting in his room when he’d arrived, probably ordered up by Freddy.She’d apparently had an attitude adjustment since her baptism in the horse trough.Much as he didn’t want a continual fight on his hands, he would miss her fiery belligerence.
He ate his food and rehearsed his pitch for bringing Joe into the partnership.Going by the rough figures Joe had given him on the money in his pension fund, the deal could be finalized with that and with what Ry could raise.Lavette would make things easier all the way around, but Joe was the critical part of the transaction.
Yet Joe hadn’t been willing to commit himself before Ry had left Manhattan.Over drinks at Joe’s favorite bar, the cop had told Ry that yes, he was definitely quitting the force, but no, he wasn’t sure a guest ranch was the place to put his retirement money.All he’d promised was that he’d have exact figures on his pension the next time they talked.No promises, no commitment to invest the pension, but he would have the figures.
So this was it.If Joe wouldn’t go for the deal, Ry would have to start through his list of contacts until he found someone who’d put up the money.And he’d have to do it fast, before Westridge became tired of waiting and accepted Whitlock’s puny offer.In the past twenty-four hours, that possibility had become unacceptable to Ry.
Clearing the tension from his throat, he picked up the receiver of the phone on his bedside table and dialed an outside line.Then he sat on the bed, an antique four-poster, while he punched in Joe’s number.As the exchanges clicked through, he gazed out the window.His room was at the corner of the house, with one window facing the mountains and the other looking out on the wide front porch.Holding the receiver to his ear, he walked over to the porch window and leaned against the wall to look out.At the far end of the porch, sitting on one of several old cane-bottomed chairs, was Dexter Grimes, his walker positioned to one side of his chair.Next to him sat Leigh Singleton.A long-haired black-and-white dog rested at their feet, completing the Norman Rockwell portrait.
The line rang, and Joe answered quickly.
