Riley's Retribution Page 7

  Jake’s face contorted. “It might be more than that.”

  “What else?”

  “She’s renting a piece of her property to guys some people don’t like.” He cleared his throat. “Some kind of militia group.”

  “What do you know about them?”

  “Nothing. A long time ago, I decided the best way to get on in the world was to mind my own business. I just know one of them came here and signed a lease. That’s all.”

  He was obviously saying as little as possible. And Riley figured that making a big deal out of the militia might put the old guy on the alert. So he simply nodded.

  CROWN PRINCE NIKOLAI PETROV wiped his mouth delicately on a napkin and pushed his chair back from the table. He was in a Montana hotel, eating a solitary, room-service meal. His own company suited him perfectly.

  The food was much too bland for his tastes. And the ingredients were inferior. But he was willing to put up with it, because his lecture tour through the American hinterlands was an important part of his mission to spread the word about his country, Lukinburg, to the American people. The U.S. had sent forces to the former Soviet satellite country to help overthrow the repressive government of his father, King Aleksandr. And he wanted to make sure the troops stayed there as long as necessary.

  Which meant winning the hearts and minds of the American people.

  So he had an ambitious schedule of public appearances in towns and cities across the continent. A smile flickered across his well-shaped lips. He knew from the e-mails and letters he had received and from the press reports that he was making a good impression on the population. Especially the women. He had no modesty about his sex appeal. He knew it helped his political cause to be young and trim with movie-star looks. And it didn’t hurt that he’d been educated in one of their top Ivy League Schools.

  Moving to the desk, he picked up the tablet he’d been writing on. His next speech would be in four days. And it must be as good as he could make it—even with the added burden he’d placed on himself with the composition of these talks.

  Each word was important. And he couldn’t turn the task over to a paid speech writer. This had to be done personally—his personal mission to the American peo ple—making them think about the political situation in Lukinburg.

  He chuckled at the thought—then got down to work in earnest.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day the garage brought back Courtney’s truck. She checked it out, then retreated into the house.

  Since she planned to take Riley’s advice, she changed into something more comfortable—one of the softly flowing maternity dresses that she liked to wear when she got the chance.

  The loose-fitting dresses were an indulgence. But she enjoyed the flow of the soft fabric against her skin—and liked the feeling of femininity they created.

  Outside, her life was all hard surfaces and rough, men’s work. In the house she could relax and let her hair down.

  Drifting to the window, she gazed toward the barn. Riley was talking to Jake.

  From her vantage point, it looked like her oldest hand and her new manager weren’t getting along too well. It would be unfortunate if they couldn’t settle down and work together. But you never knew how Jake would take a newcomer. If he’d been younger, she would have asked him if he wanted the ranch manager’s job. But she’d known it would be too much of a burden for him. And she hadn’t shared her reason ing with him—for fear he’d be insulted if she mentioned his age.

  She took her bottom lip between her teeth. Had she done the wrong thing? Had she made him feel that she was shoving him aside when she’d started searching out a replacement for Ernie?

  Courtney sighed and turned away from the window. Sometimes she felt as if the ranch was too big a responsibility for a woman alone. If she felt that way when she was pregnant, how would it be when she had a child to take care of? She’d have a whole lot more to do. If Riley didn’t work out, she was up a creek without a paddle.

  And right now she was in trouble in ways she had never anticipated. Someone had shot at her from the bridge. Then a cabin had blown up yesterday. She didn’t know why. Or who had done it. Or if the incidents were connected.

  She shuddered. Were the two events part of a pattern? Or were they separate? And which alternative was worse?

  She had no answers. About the cabin or the shooting.

  Or about Riley Watson, either. Unfortunately, she was attracted to him. But that attraction could go nowhere. Not in her present circumstances. Her getting involved with her ranch manager wouldn’t be fair to him. Or the baby. She couldn’t get wound up in a new relationship when her attention should be focused on her child.

  Better to think about something besides the way Riley’s hard body had felt pressed to hers. In bed—and after he’d clambered out of that horrible trap.

  She should be thinking about Edward…not Riley. He’d been her husband. And he was the father of her child.

  She and Ed had met in college in Billings, where they had both majored in ancient history. She’d been fresh off the ranch, but she’d loved the atmosphere of the university. They’d shared a passion for reading historic documents written in the original languages. That’s what had brought them together in the first place. They’d both been after the same reference book and realized they’d have to share it.

  Her hand slipped down to her abdomen, and she pressed her fingers over the bulge where Ed’s baby was growing inside her.

  They’d been sure they were in love—even though her parents had tried to warn her that she and Edward Rogers were too different to make a relationship work. She hadn’t wanted to hear it. But they’d been right.

  During their marriage, her husband had been away so much that she’d gotten used to being without him. Now sometimes it was hard to believe he was really dead—and not just on another one of his long assignments.

  “But if you’d known people were shooting at me, you would have come back to help, right?”

  She snapped her mouth closed. There was no point in talking to Ed or wishing he were here to defend her. He wasn’t here. But Riley Watson was.

  Yesterday, she’d kissed him. Somehow they’d grabbed each other like two shipwreck survivors who had finally spotted land.

  Or had she led him on? Did he know from the previous afternoon in the motel that she’d welcome his advances?

  Damn, she had to know what she’d done in that motel room. Because the gap in her memory was driving her crazy. And the tension couldn’t be good for her or little Emily. Or maybe the name should be Hannah.

  A knock at the door made Courtney jump. Pulling aside the curtain, she looked out and goggled at the man standing on the front porch.

  Speak of the devil. There was Mr. Watson, looking as sinfully tempting as he had in that motel room.

  Don’t think about how good he looks, Courtney ordered herself. You hired him to work for you. You have to keep your relationship businesslike. That’s best for everyone concerned.

  “Just a moment,” she called out, then hurried down the hall.

  When she opened the door, she might have been tempted to talk on the porch to keep Mr. Watson out of the house, but the blast of cold winter air sent a chill across her skin.

  “I guess you’d better come in,” she said, thinking she sounded rather ungracious. Lord, why couldn’t she seem to strike the right balance with the man?

  Either she was clasping him in her arms or pushing him away.

  The first image made her face heat, and she turned quickly on her heel.

  Her new ranch manager closed the door carefully behind him, keeping his back to her for a moment. Finally he turned around to face her. But he said nothing, and she was very aware of how she must look. Before, he’d only seen her in one of the man-size shirts she wore over a pair of maternity jeans.

  Now she knew her blue jersey dress was clinging to her breasts and to the swell of her abdomen.

  As she pictured what she mu
st look like, she felt as big as a blue whale, and she wished she’d dressed in one of her usual outfits.

  He was speaking, and she fought to focus on his words.

  “I’ve inspected your spread, and I do have some questions about the ranch.”

  She’d always invited Ernie into the kitchen or the office when they talked about ranch business. It made sense that she should do the same with Riley, although she simply didn’t feel as easy with him. And it seemed like he wasn’t any too comfortable with her, either.

  Still, she heard herself saying, “Can I get you a cup of tea?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she flushed. She’d always offered Ernie coffee. But since she’d found out she was pregnant, the smell upset her stomach. “Probably you don’t drink tea,” she said, then felt even more foolish.

  “Tea would be fine,” he answered.

  In the kitchen, she busied herself filling the kettle, then setting it on a burner, aware that he was watching her.

  “What did you want to ask?” she said quickly. “I mean, about the ranch.”

  “I’ve been making a list of possible improvements. You need to do some work on your access road before one of your vehicles breaks an axle.”

  She winced. “I know.”

  “I take it you don’t own a grader.”

  “We used to have a small one. It’s not operational. I’d have to rent one—and money has been pretty tight.”

  “Well, we need to squeeze it into the budget.”

  She answered with a tight nod, because she knew he was right. The kettle whistled, and she snatched it off the burner, then got down mugs.

  “I’m glad you followed my advice—about staying in the house, I mean.”

  “There wasn’t anything that needed my attention outside,” she answered, knowing she sounded diffident.

  She wanted to tell him that she could take care of herself. But she knew he was right about being careful. If staying inside helped keep the baby safe, then she’d do it.

  Maybe he sensed her tension, because he changed the subject by saying, “I need to have some idea of your monthly expenses. And your income.”

  She stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her mug. “I sold three colts two months ago. They both had excellent bloodlines, and they both fetched good prices.”

  The conversation ground to a halt. She felt the weight of the silence between them and knew she had to clear the air. Before she could stop herself she said, “That afternoon in the motel room, I was pretty out of it.” She cleared her throat. “I need to know—did I do anything improper while…while we were in bed together?”

  When she heard his breath catch, she felt her face go hot. Damn, she knew it. He’d been keeping something from her—something that would embarrass her.

  As he spoke, it was difficult for her to focus on the words. But she realized he wasn’t confirming her worst fears. “You didn’t do anything out of line.” He shifted in his seat. “If anyone was tempted, it was me.”

  “How could you be tempted by a woman who’s fat and ugly?”

  He answered with a bark of laughter. “Is that how you think of yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re so wrong. I would have thought you’d figured that out after you helped me get out of that hole in the ground.”

  The statement hung in the air between them. She’d brought up the afternoon in the motel room. He’d just added the incident from yesterday. And probably they both wished they’d keep their mouths shut.

  “Maybe I’d better go look at your books,” he said.

  “Right.” She jumped up so quickly that she made the mugs on the table rattle. “Let me show you the office.

  “The account books are in the top-right-hand drawer of the desk,” she said as he followed her down the hall. “Why don’t you have a look at them, then ask me any questions that you have.”

  “That would be fine.”

  WHEN COURTNEY LEFT the room, Riley breathed out a small sigh. To put it mildly, he had found her presence distracting.

  Easing open the desk, he found several old-fashioned leather-bound books. If this was how she kept her accounts, he probably should convert the system to computer. Except that he wasn’t going to be here very long, he reminded himself. He was only staying until Big Sky collected its bounty on Boone Fowler.

  He listened hard for sounds from the hall. Then, because it was part of his assignment, he began opening other desk drawers, looking for anything incriminating.

  He wasn’t sure what that might be. He only knew he hated going behind Courtney Rogers’s back.

  But he had a job to do, he told himself grimly as he stared at a copy of her husband’s death certificate, then the record of a five-thousand-dollar CD she’d cashed in recently.

  When he felt uncomfortable enough, he put away the personal papers and began paging through lists of expenditures—then notations of payments.

  As she’d said, she had made some money selling colts—and also on stud services for two of her stallions—who were apparently in demand among local ranchers.

  There was also a notation for rent payments of $5,000 a month. Quite a hefty sum. If Boone Fowler could afford that much, he must be getting some serious financing. And the money was an important part of Ms. Rogers’s current finances.

  Well, the payments gave him an opportunity to bring up the “survivalists” again. And he had another idea, too. He’d been thinking that Courtney’s problems came from people in town who were either upset by her unmarried-pregnant status—or upset because she’d allowed the militia to use her property. But suppose there was another motive? Suppose someone had decided her land was valuable—and they’d like her to quit the ranch, so they could take it over. He should ask her if anyone had made her an offer for the property. And he should ask the colonel to dig into the subject, as well.

  No—scratch that. He had to stay focused and remember that his assignment wasn’t to solve Courtney Rogers’s problems. It was to make contact with Boone Fowler and his gang of thugs and find out what they were up to.

  A noise from the doorway made him sit upright so quickly that he almost lost his balance.

  Courtney stared at him from the doorway. “Are you all right?”

  He shuffled the papers on the desk. “We should talk about your books.”

  “Do you have any problems with what you saw?”

  “Nothing major, although your cash flow is pretty minimal.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, then cleared her throat. “What if we talk about it over dinner.”

  Before he could stop himself he said, “I’d like that.” In the next second, he wondered if he was out of his mind. He should be figuring out how to keep his distance, not sitting down for a meal with Ms. Rogers.

  “Six o’clock,” she said, as though she sensed he might change his mind.

  “Yes. Thanks. I, um, wish I could bring something.”

  “No need,” she said briskly, and fled the room.

  “I’M HAVING DINNER with Mrs. Rogers,” Riley told Jake when he came back to the bunkhouse.

  The older man looked him up and down. “She invited you?”

  “Yes,” he answered, feeling as if he was checking in with a parole officer.

  At five after six, all washed up and wearing his best pair of jeans and Western shirt under his coat, he stepped out into the frosty night.

  As he strode across the ranch yard to the main house, he wondered if the knot in his stomach would ease up enough for him to eat. But the moment he caught the scent of roast chicken and dumplings coming from the kitchen, he felt his mouth water.

  “That smells delicious,” he told Courtney.

  “Good.”

  While he shrugged out of his coat, she turned and hurried back to the kitchen.

  She was wearing the same dress she had that afternoon, with a big apron tied around the front, emphasizing the small bulge at her middle.

  She looked good enough to eat, an
d he forced himself not to stare.

  OUT IN THE DARKNESS, Jake watched the couple in the kitchen. All cozy and nice. What a sweet domestic scene.

  What the hell was Watson doing having dinner with her? She hardly knew him. There were guys on the spread—like him—who had been here since forever. Yet Watson was the one getting the nice little dinner.

  Jake cursed under his breath. He’d come outside to check up on the dinner party. But he’d better get back where he belonged before someone saw him.

  Still, he couldn’t leave yet. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the lighted interior of the kitchen.

  He stood there in the cold and dark for another few minutes, thinking of ways he could make life difficult for Watson and how he could let Courtney Rogers know that she was making a mistake.

  She was seven months pregnant. Now she was playing house with Watson?

  Jake snorted. He didn’t like this turn of events much. Too bad that explosion out at the line cabin hadn’t taken care of Watson.

  But it was only a matter of time. The guy would make a bad mistake—and Jake would have him by the short hairs.

  SCRAMBLING TO KEEP his mind focused on his real job, Riley asked, “So what do you think about the political situation in Lukinburg?” Immediately he wondered if Courtney was going to think that was a damn odd question.

  But she seemed glad to give him her opinion. “I used to be for the war. But my…husband was killed over there. So I started rethinking our involvement in the sovereign affairs of another country. “

  “Oh.”

  “But I do admire Crown Prince Nikolai—and the way he’s stood up to his father’s tyrannical government. He’s a very eloquent advocate for his people.”

  “Um,” Riley answered with another brilliant rejoinder. He would have liked to keep probing, but he didn’t want to seem too interested in Lukinburg.

  She turned off a burner under a bubbling pot. “Do you mind if we serve ourselves from the stove?” she asked. “That way I don’t have to wash serving dishes.”

  “That’s fine.”

  They busied themselves getting roast chicken with roasted vegetables and green beans.