“A dude ranch?” He cut through her ardent stream with a disbelieving guffaw. “You mean to turn the Lazy S into a greenhorn hotel?”
“Well, call it what you will.” She shrugged, trying not to be put off by his discouraging tone. Once she could fully explain, fully define the entire scope of her vision, he would comprehend everything. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this, worked out the details in my mind. I realize the notion is new to you, Rusty, and you need time to digest everything, but it could be like a...a health ranch. We could put in a swimming pool, have yoga classes—”
“No half-dressed yogi is gonna run around here spouting New-Age manure.” His expression closed her off like the slamming of a door. “We don’t need any damn pool, either. We’re simple folk. If we get hot, we just jump in the creek.” Features stiff, he collected a pair of hay hooks and thrust them into a thick bale. For a disturbing instant she had the crazy notion he’d like to use the hay hooks on her.
To heft the heavy bale into a wheelbarrow, he braced his feet. “I don’t know how I’ll get out from under this financial mess, but I won’t sell the Lazy S. And it won’t ever become a dude ranch.”
But why not? she wondered, blinking at him.
Recognizing a brick wall when she slammed into one, Lucy felt fingers of despair reaching into her heart like tendrils of mist before an ominous fog. Her attorneys had been so sure Rusty would jump at the chance to avoid certain bankruptcy that she had counted on his agreement. And the lawyers, the accountants and the bank officials had all concurred: without her, he would go bankrupt.
Staring sightlessly at her hands, she supposed she could wait for the foreclosure and simply buy the property from the bank. But that wasn’t how she wanted it. She wanted the Lazy S and Rusty. If only as a business partner.
Deep inside her soul, a silent bell of loneliness and pain began its familiar, dismal peal. All her life, she’d quit everything she’d started, given in when she should have fought back, accepted “no” when she should have demanded “yes.” The lonely, pealing toll grew in her mind until she could almost feel its grim vibrations.
Not this time. She crushed the defeating voice inside. This time I’ll stand firm. She swore to it.
“You’re part of the deal,” she whispered to his back, her throat tight and aching. “Don’t you see? You complete everything.”
His biceps straining, Rusty lifted the bale into the wheelbarrow and rolled it to the bank of stalls, broke it open and methodically tossed six-inch thick flakes into feeder bins. In the end stall, a hungry buckskin mare whinnied. Rusty didn’t look up at Lucy. “What sort of man was he?”
She blinked. “Who?”
“Your husband, Lucy. Was he good to you?”
The unexpected question blindsided her. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“That’s not too personal a question to ask, is it? Was your husband—what was his name?”
“Kenneth.”
“Kenneth, then.” He tossed a chunky flake into the next stall. “Was Kenneth a man who treated his woman well? Were you happy with him?”
“I...I don’t, that is—” She licked her lips, took a deep breath and tried again. “Kenneth had many fine qualities.”
The narrow-eyed glance he shot over his shoulder sliced straight through her like a shard of broken glass. When they were younger, most of the time he’d barely noticed her. But on the infrequent occasions when he had, she well recalled his piercing, perceptive eyes. Always he’d appeared able to read her innermost thoughts.
Lucy swallowed and forced her mind back to business. “The ranch, Rusty. If you won’t let me help, how can you keep it? Who else could you turn to?”
As he faced her, finished with the afternoon feeding, she saw that his skin was drawn taut over his cheekbones; his brown eyes took on a hard glitter. Tension radiated from every line in his body, and she felt his frustration beating at her in waves. Jerkily he stripped off his gloves.
For a moment he stared at the ground. It was a strangely dejected look for such a confident, strong man. She wondered at it. At last he raised his head.
“Sell you half,” he ground out.
“What?” Lucy stared at him dumbly.
“I’ll sell you half interest. God knows it’s the last thing I want. I thought I could raise capital selling you a few acres. But you want it all, don’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “And you’re right. There’s little choice. The bank’s gonna take it if I don’t act. I can’t believe it, but you’re my best—and only—option.”
Wisely she refrained from telling him she knew this.
“I get full control over the running of the ranch,” he demanded. “You’ll be a partner, but mostly in name and on paper.”
Pulse beating wildly, she said, “What about my idea—opening the ranch to others?” She didn’t dare use the term he found so derisive.
“We’ll work that out,” he evaded. “And no promises. Meantime, the property will be appraised, and you’ll invest exactly half the amount right back here.”
“Certainly,” she said.
“And you understand that I have final say in everything pertaining to ranch business, at least for this year?”
“Sure, but—”
“One more thing. If I can raise the same amount you’re investing, I have the right to buy you out. Agreed?”
Lucy faltered. That wasn’t what she wanted at all. When he got enough money he’d simply throw her off the ranch?
He continued staring at her in his hard-eyed way.
The capital she’d agreed to invest was quite a healthy sum. Would he be able to raise it...ever? It seemed unlikely. Besides, if he could, by then he’d have gotten to know her better, maybe even grown fond of her. By then, perhaps she’d have carved out a place for herself on the Lazy S. It seemed an unlikely event.
“You get a year,” she said, thinking fast.
He looked stunned. “What?”
“If you can raise the money in one year’s time, I’ll agree to it.” Behind her back, she twisted her chilled fingers together, hoping against hope he’d settle on this. “And, I get my dude ranch. On that point you have to agree.” There, she’d said it.
Rusty’s mouth flattened. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a word she pretended not to hear. “Fine,” he spat out. “A year it is. And in running things here, you won’t interfere?”
“No.” A welling joy rose in her chest like champagne bubbles. She wanted to shout her delight to the world. She wanted to sing. She wanted to rush to Rusty and throw her arms around him.
“My word’s as good as a contract,” he informed her coolly, and instead of the hug she would prefer, he proffered a broad palm.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling tremulously. Enclosing his hand in both her own, she shook it warmly. “Thank you.”
What the hell had he done, Rusty asked himself an hour later as he walked to the corrals. Just what? The situation was impossible. Had he really agreed to sell his former stepsister half the ranch? And how were they supposed to live—together in the big house—a bachelor and a young widow woman?
Fighting