Cowboys are Forever (2 page)

He reached the house and parked. Marielle followed suit, parked the Jeep and got out, staring around in consternation. This wasn’t the neatly maintained homestead that she remembered from her youth. Then, the little frame house had been a pristine white and flowers had bloomed all around the picket fence that enclosed the yard. Now it had a derelict look. Even in the fading light, Marielle could see that the paint was blistered and peeling, the shutters hung askew; and the picket fence leaned drunkenly, its gate hanging on rusty hinges. The pretty yard she recalled was bare in patches and overgrown in others, like a moth-eaten fur coat. It was devoid of flowers except for a few tangled climbing roses that clung stubbornly to the dilapidated fence and scrambled up the crooked newel posts of the front porch. Her heart sank.

She became aware that the man had walked over to stand beside her. He gave her a knowing look.

“Pretty sad, huh? Old Dan was in bad health for the last few years and couldn’t keep the place up. We’ve all pitched in, helped him with his livestock, things like that. But he was a proud old coot. He wouldn’t let anybody do much to help him.”

Struggling to hide the dismay she felt, Marielle answered him calmly. “It’s okay. I don’t see anything that a few coats of paint and some elbow grease can’t fix.” She’d be darned if she’d give this arrogant stranger the satisfaction of knowing how upset she really was at the condition of the place.

He gaped at her for a second. “You don’t mean that you’re actually going to try and live here?”

“I’m not going to try and live here—” She began.

“I didn’t think so,” he interrupted, and laughed shortly. “You’d have to be crazy to even consider it. My name’s Trey Masterson and I’m guessing you’re Dan’s niece from New York. I own the spread next to this one. I’m prepared to offer you a decent price for the place because I want the land.” He frowned. “Old Dan’s lawyer was supposed to tell you that. It would have saved you a trip out here.”

“He did mention an offer,” Marielle replied, “From a Peter J. Masterson.” She quirked an eyebrow at him inquiringly.

“The third,” he said. “Peter James Masterson III. That’s me—Trey.”

Marielle faced him squarely. “Mr. Masterson … Trey, you misunderstood me. I wasn’t going to
try
and live here—I’m going to live here. That’s why I told Uncle Dan’s lawyer to refuse your offer and why I’m refusing it now.”

He stared at her, disbelieve etched on his features. “Lady, you can’t live here—”

“I most certainly can live here,” Marielle broke in.

“It’s my property. And by the way, my name is Marielle Stevens—not ‘lady’. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and I want to get my things in the house. Thanks for bringing me here.” She started down the path to the front porch, calling out a dismissive “good night” on the way.

Stepping gingerly over the sagging boards of the front porch, she reached the door. The attorney had told her that if a key existed, he didn’t know its whereabouts. Apparently everyone was on the honor system up here. She turned the knob and pushed, and the door swung inward, creaking.

A tiny moan escaped her lips as she surveyed they room before her. Like the outside, this was not what she remembered. When she’d been here that long-ago summer, this room had possessed a homespun coziness. She recalled comfortable chintz furniture, ruffled curtains at the windows and braided rugs scarred around on gleaming, wide-planked floors.

Now the room looked anything but cozy. In the dim light that filtered through the tattered remnants hanging over the windows, she could see that the couch and chair were covered with what looked like horse blankets. Magazines, newspapers and related materials were stacked haphazardly on every available surface, including the scuffed and dusty floor. She noticed several empty bottles strewn around. Leather items of various sorts hung from nails on the walls, along with miscellaneous ropes, chains, and other items that Marielle was unable to identify. Nearly giddy with fatigue and shock, she wondered hysterically if her great-uncle had been in to S & M. This place was a warehouse of goodies for anyone devoted to bondage and kinky sex! She giggled weakly.

At a noise behind her, she spun around to find Trey standing behind her, smirking.

“Home sweet home,” he commented sardonically. “I’m glad you’ve got a sense of humor. You’ll need one, if you try to stick with your crazy idea to stay here.” He gestured to a long-necked bottle with an inch or so of amber-colored liquor in it. “Dan drank.” His tone was loaded with meaning.

“Is the whole place like this?” she asked him, dreading the answer.

“Yes, ma’am, it is. Like this—or worse. To be fair about it, Dan Kept the place up pretty well, even with his drinking, until his health started to decline a couple of years ago. Then it started to go downhill fast. He was in the hospital and then a nursing home for several months before he died. So nobody was here to maintain it at all except for a few of us seeing to the basic upkeep. But”-he shook his head ruefully—” by that time it was pretty far gone.”

“I … I had no idea,” Marielle said slowly, feeling a sense of guilt at her ignorance about her great-uncle. “His letters were always cheerful and upbeat.”

“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing,” Trey said. “Dan was a very private person.”

She sank down on the couch and coughed when dust puffed up around her. “What about his stock?” she inquired. “Mr. Greely … the lawyer, told me that Uncle Dan raised sheep.”

“That’s true. He did. His animals are grazing with mine.” He looked at her appraisingly. “I’m sure you don’t understand this, but there’s a lot more involved than just turning them out to graze. They have to be inoculated against diseases, treated for parasites, assisted with lambing, sheared, sipped … It was easier for me to tend them on my place along with my own, rather than try and send my help over here to take care of them. I’ll make you a fair offer on the sheep, too.”

“I understand more than you’re giving me credit for,” she told him, beginning to feel irritated at his condescending tone. “I realize that there’s more to it than simply letting them eat grass. But I don’t think that it’s anything I can’t handle.” Actually, she’d gone to the library and given herself a crash course in sheep farming before leaving New York. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Thanks for taking care of the sheep. But they aren’t for sale. I plan on—”

“You have got to be out of your ever-loving mind!” he bellowed. “I can’t imagine why you’d even think that you want to live out here and try to put this ranch back on its feet.” He glared at her. She noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw. “But whatever misguided notions you might have … you can’t do it! Dan talked to us a little bit about you, his only surviving relative. He was proud of your important job in the city, told us how you went to art gallery openings and all the Broadway plays. You wouldn’t last a week out here in these mountains. It’s impossible.”

Marielle rose from the couch, trying to control her indignation. Who did he think he was? She faced him squarely. “Listen,” she began. “Get this straight. I … am … going … to … live … here. I am going to do my level best to get this ranch operating again. It’s not very big, according to the survey and description the attorney sent me. I’ll admit that I don’t know much about it, but I can learn. Besides, I’m sure that I can hire someone to help me, someone who does know what needs to be done and how to do it. And”—she took a deep, steadying breath—” I’d appreciate it if you’d quit calling me crazy just because you don’t agree with my decision to stay.”

He stared at her for a long moment before answering. “Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t say you’re crazy anymore. But I’ll tell you what I will say when you come begging me to take this place off your hands. I’ll say I told you so.” He shook his head and removed the wide-brimmed Stetson he wore, and then raked his fingers through his hair before replacing the hat. “Now—”

“Now,” Marielle interrupted. “I’m tired and I and to get some rest.”

“But—”

“No more discussion, please.” She crossed to the open front door and stood by it, indicating her desire for him to leave. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure. Good night.”

He stood where he was, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Please, just go,” Marielle repeated wearily.

He nodded slowly, and then started for the open door. When he reached the threshold, he turned to her, “But—”

Marielle let out an exasperated sigh. “For heaven’s sake, go away. No doubt there are probably all kinds of important things I need to know about. But I’m just not up to it tonight.” She felt desperately tired. In fact, she was swaying with weariness. She had to get a few things in from the Jeep, wash up, and lie down. And oh, yeah, she thought, find the bathroom—soon.

With a shrug, Trey turned back around and left. Marielle watched his truck disappear down the drive, and then went outside to begin unpacking the Jeep. Just a few things, she told herself—clean linens, toiletries, the box of groceries she’d picked up in Cheyenne and the all-important coffeemaker. She got everything she needed inside the house and set it all down in the living room. Now where was that bathroom? She remembered it being at the back of the little house, probably an add-on, she realized now. Switching on a lamp, she was relieved to see that the electricity was working.

Ah, there it was. She looked around, surprised and pleased to note that it was cleaner than the living room. The big claw foot tub sat under a window just as she recalled. She thought back with pleasure to the long, hot baths she’d taken in the old-fashioned tub during her visit here. Her grandmother had been alive then; she and her great-uncle Dan had lived here together. Marielle felt a pang of sadness thinking about Granny Stevens. Unfortunately, she’d never gotten to spend much time with her dad’s mother. Granny had lived too far away to visit often, preferring to stay out here in her beloved mountains. Marielle had spent an enchanted few weeks here while her parents went on a business trip to Europe. Shortly afterwards, her grandmother had passed away.

Marielle had loved it here as a child. She’d never forgotten the thrill of seeing chicks … newly hatched and still egg-shaped from the shell they’d grown in, as they emerged, cheeping, to huddle under the mother hen’s protecting wing. Or the warm, fragrant milk, creamy-white and frothy, that her grandmother got from her gentle Jersey cow twice a day. Or a myriad of other things. Things that had stamped an indelible impression on Marielle’s young consciousness, causing her to look back on that visit with the fondest of memories … She’d never lost her fascination with farm life.

She shook herself out of her reverie, vowing to treat herself and her aching muscles to a long, hot bath soon, and went to explore the kitchen. Marielle checked out the two small bedrooms on her way back down the hall, noting with relief that her grandmother’s room was in reasonably good shape. The four-poster bed and antique furnishings were dusty, but otherwise looked okay. She’d just store some things in the refrigerator, lay out clean linens to put on the bed, then take that bath. Brightened considerably by the prospect of a soak in the big tub with a generous measure of her favorite bath oil, she began placing items on the shelves of the antiquated but still serviceable refrigerator.

Half an hour later, she stared in horror at the empty bathtub. She’d turned the faucets this way and that to no avail. Not a drop of water had come from either one … hot or cold. She groaned, her despair echoing loudly into the cavernous porcelain tub, as she stood peering into it.

Going quickly to the kitchen, she tried the taps over the large sink. Nothing. Damn!

Trey sat in his living room, absently thrumming his fingers on the arm of his chair while he thought about Marielle Stevens. Even her name was fancy, he decided. Like the woman herself. She looked like a high-class model on the cover of an expensive women’s magazine. He could imagine her gliding down the runway at a fashion show, pirouetting slowly to give a full view of some fantastically expensive creation. But he couldn’t imagine her as a sheep farmer.

She was gorgeous, with those huge green eyes and a blaze of fiery red hair. If he went for that type. Which he didn’t. Not now, anyway.

He had once. He’d married a girl from L.A. ten years ago, when he’d been younger and dumber. Beautiful, vivacious Lisette … He smiled grimly. She’d been enthusiastic about the wonderful mountain air and rural life, too—for a few months.

She’d lasted through one winter. Trey had watched her become increasingly withdrawn, more silent and morose day by day until she’d finally packed her bags to leave. She’d admitted that she couldn’t take the isolation and harsh, savage weather. She’d missed her friends, her dances at the country club, all the social whirl she’d been accustomed to before their marriage. He’d been hurt—badly.