He surveyed the stand of mesquite, gnarled trunks branching out into a canopy bursting with small, delicate leaves.“Do you sell the wood to restaurants back East?Mesquite-grilled meat is very popular where I come from.”
Her glance was not friendly.“No, we don’t sell the wood.”
“Why not?”he persisted.“Seems like you have a lot of it around.”
“The trees protect our privacy.My ancestors used to clear the mesquite to give the cattle more room, but a lot of our guests are birders, and the mesquite bosques attract birds.Besides, I don’t much like the sound of a chainsaw.It frightens the horses.”
“I see.”So economics wasn’t her top priority, after all.T.R.’s hope that a woman would be more willing to compromise on his plans for the ranch began to disappear.Once the developers finished with this land, there wouldn’t be a mesquite bosque to be found.
They reached the truck and he climbed in, dumping his shoes on the floor.
“How are the boots?”Freddy asked as she started the engine.
“Great fit.”He’d discovered he liked the boots.With only one on, he’d felt stupid, but with both on, and his pant leg pulled over the shaft instead of tucked in, he felt like a cowboy.He’d always made fun of city people who wore Western clothing as a style statement.But something had happened when he’d put on the boots.He’d walked with more purpose in his stride and had felt more in command of his world.Maybe he’d take a taxi into town and buy some before he left.
Freddy steered the truck past the fork and down the road toward the main house.
“Your ancestors built this place?”T.R.asked, remembering something she’d said earlier.
“That’s right.Thaddeus Singleton homesteaded the True Love in 1882.”After a moment of silence, she continued.“And if you wonder why a Singleton is now only the foreman, and not the owner, after my dad died, I ran into some financial problems and had to sell.The Westridge Corporation out of Denver bought it.Fortunately, I was allowed to stay on and run the place.”
“Considering what you must save them on vet bills alone, I’m sure the corporation is lucky you decided to stay.”
She glanced at him, her smile grim.“I’d have to be dragged off the True Love.”
He didn’t like the sound of that, didn’t like it at all.But she was obviously a very intelligent woman.Maybe, as time went by, he’d be able to appeal to her business sense.The True Love property was too valuable to use as a guest ranch.Surely there was other land out in the middle of nowhere that could be had for a pittance.She needed to take a page out of Thaddeus Singleton’s book and strike out on her own, carve a new ranch out of some remote wilderness.Maybe he could help her locate that piece of property, give her a business loan to start a new spread.The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of being her financial adviser.
The dirt road curved and the main house appeared, surrounded by a low wall of whitewashed adobe that swooped into an arch over a flagstone walk.A border of blue, white and yellow Mexican tile decorated the archway.Cactus that reminded T.R.of giant artichokes stood on either side of the arch, and beyond the wall two large mesquite trees created a filigree of shade over a yard with patchy grass.T.R.noticed a couple of rabbits munching on the grass and wondered how golf courses handled the rabbit situation.
“Here we are.”Freddy parked the truck and swung to the ground.“The old ranch house, which was frame, burned down in the thirties, so my grandfather decided to build the new one of adobe — less of a fire hazard.It’s grown like topsy over the years, but we’ve tried to keep Grandpa’s basic design.”She gestured toward the house.“You’re standing at the base of a U shape.Sixteen guestrooms are on the right wing, living and dining room in the middle, and kitchen, storage and family areas on the left.Oh, and we have one little cottage about fifty yards away in a mesquite grove.We use it for honeymooners.”
T.R.surveyed the one-story structure that stretched in front of him.Graceful was the word that came to him.A developer might want to convert the building into a clubhouse for the golf course because of its charm.The whitewashed adobe contrasted nicely with the red Spanish-tile roof, and a wide porch stretched the length of the building, with potted geraniums blooming under the porch’s shade.
Shade had quickly become important to T.R., whose shirt was already sticking to his back.He noticed that Freddy seemed barely to perspire.“Do you have many guests now?”
“Not many this week,” she said.“A group of German tourists will arrive on Sunday.The Europeans don’t seem to mind the heat, but the bulk of our business is during the winter months, although business hasn’t been that terrific recently.Anyway, now’s the time we catch up on our chores.”
Like castrating poor Red Devil.
“Let’s go in.”She started down the flagstone walk, her boot heels clicking on the hard surface.“Duane and Curtis will be along in a minute with your luggage and some riding clothes.In the meantime, I think Belinda can find us each a glass of lemonade.”
The suggestion reminded T.R.that he was desperately thirsty.He never remembered being so thirsty in his life.
Freddy grasped the wrought-iron handle set into one of the carved wooden entry doors, opened the door and ushered him inside.He nearly sighed with relief as cool air welcomed him.
She led him through a short, tiled hallway into a large room with beamed ceilings at least fifteen feet high.In the far left corner stood a huge beehive fireplace flanked by worn leather couches and two leather easy chairs, also battered.A rough pine coffee table held pewter ashtrays and some back issues of Arizona Highways.
Next to the fireplace, a wide bay window looked out on an enclosed courtyard, a kidney-shaped swimming pool and a Jacuzzi.A high rock wall broken by an archway curved beside the pool, and a waterfall spilled from the top of the arch.A mother and her two young children played in the tumbling water.
T.R.’s thirst grew.
“Why, there you are, Freddy,” called a musical voice.
T.R.turned as a woman he judged to be in her mid-seventies walked into the room.Her gray hair was cut short in a no-nonsense style and she wore slacks and a flowered smock over her ample bosom.She had one of the sweetest faces he’d ever seen.
“You must be a mind reader, Belinda.We could sure use some lemonade.”Freddy took off her hat and slapped it against her thigh.“But first, let me introduce you.Belinda Grimes, meet T.R.McGuinnes.”
Belinda nodded to him politely, but without enthusiasm.
