shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. My neighbor called to let me know that Gramma Mel gave some college professor permission to dig on our property. This professor has convinced my grandmother that Jesse James buried some of his stolen loot on the Silver Spurs.”
The worried expressions on his friends’ faces switched to relief and then amusement. “Is that all?” Coop asked, grinning, resting his broad shoulder against a wall.
“That’s enough. Nobody has permission to dig on the Silver Spurs.”
“Evidently your grandmother gave it,” Bane pointed out.
“Well, that permission is being rescinded, and I’m going to make sure Gramma Mel and this professor know it.”
“Did you talk to Caldwell?” Flipper asked.
“Yes, but he’ll go along with anything my grandmother says. Now I have to head straight home instead of making that pit stop in Mississippi like I’d planned. Hell, that means I’m giving up a chance to get laid for this foolishness.”
Mac grinned. “But what if Jesse James did hide some of his loot on your land? If I recall, he and his gang robbed a number of banks in and around the Missouri area.”
Gavin frowned as he zipped up his gear and faced his friends. “There’s not any loot on the Silver Spurs and nobody can convince me otherwise.”
Layla Harris smiled as she accepted the plate of cookies. “Ms. Melody, I wished you wouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
She said the words out of politeness, knowing they weren’t true. Nobody could bake like Melody Blake and she was glad the older woman not only liked doing so but also enjoyed sharing her baked goods with Layla. Especially when the snack included a delicious tall glass of milk that had been produced right here on this ranch.
“No trouble at all,” Melody Blake said, smiling. “Besides, I enjoy your company. It can get lonely in these parts.”
Layla knew the Silver Spurs was a good half-hour car ride from town. At least Ms. Melody had neighbors living fairly close who checked in on her regularly. Layla had discovered the land owned by the majority of the people in this area had been in their families for generations and most of it was used for ranching cattle.
There was something special about the eighteen hundred acres encompassing the Silver Spurs and the spacious Blake family ranch home. Layla had felt welcomed the moment she had driven into the yard. The sprawling ranch house was massive and Layla figured it had to be over fifty-five hundred square feet. What she liked most was the wraparound porch with a swing that faced a beautiful pond.
Ms. Melody, a retired librarian, had said she didn’t mind living in the huge house alone because she was used to it, and reading and baking kept her busy. The kitchen alone was massive and it was where the older woman spent a lot of her days, creating mouthwatering treats. In addition to the huge main house, there was a spacious guest cottage located within walking distance.
When Ms. Melody had agreed to let Layla conduct her archaeological dig on the property, she’d also kindly invited Layla to stay in the main house, but Layla preferred the guesthouse. She could come and go without disturbing the older woman.
According to Ms. Melody, the Silver Spurs had been a prosperous cattle ranch for years. It had even survived when the majority of the men, including Ms. Melody’s husband, left to fight in the Vietnam War. When her husband and son became full-time military men, they’d hired a foreman to keep things running smoothly. Ms. Melody also explained that although her grandson was active in the military as a navy SEAL, whenever he returned home he reclaimed his role as a rancher.
Layla met Caldwell Andrews, the ranch foreman, and found the man pleasant and capable. The same held true for the men who worked for him. They appeared to be hard workers who were dedicated and loyal to the Blake family.
There was so much about Melody Blake that reminded Layla of her own grandmother. Both were independent, in the best of health for women their ages and were active in their churches and communities. Only thing, Gramma Candace wasn’t a baker. She preferred spending her time with a knitting needle instead of a baking pan.
“I thought I’d bake chocolate chip cookies this time. They’re Gavin’s favorite,” Ms. Melody said, breaking into Layla’s musings.
At the mention of Ms. Melody’s grandson, Layla couldn’t dismiss the shiver that went through her body. Gavin Blake was a hunk. Although she’d never met him in person, she had seen enough of the man to judge his looks thanks to the numerous framed photographs that hung on several walls in this house. Layla knew it wasn’t the man’s ego that was responsible, but the grandmother who loved her grandson and was proud of the fact that, like the father and grandfather before him, he was a navy SEAL.
From all the photographs she’d seen, Layla could tell just how well built Gavin Blake was, how drop-dead gorgeous. He was definitely eye candy of the most delectable kind. Any woman would be hard-pressed not to feel some kind of sensual pull whenever she feasted her gaze on his image.
Layla had studied one of the close-up photos, which showed dimples when he smiled, a blunt nose, stubborn jaw and full lips. His angular face made him look so much like the warrior she’d heard him to be. She’d also heard he was quite the ladies’ man. That bit of information had been shared by some of the locals she’d met at the café where she occasionally ate lunch. Once they’d heard she was about to dig on Blake property, they didn’t hesitate to give her an earful.
According to a very talkative waitress whose eyes lit up whenever she spoke of Gavin, Layla had learned he had been a local football hero who had put Cornerstone, Missouri, on the map after leading his high school team to the state championship. No one had been surprised when he’d gone to the naval academy since he’d come from a military family. His father had been killed in the Gulf War and very little was known about his mother. Rumor had it that she’d been pretty, a few years younger than her husband and the two had married within a week of meeting in New York. Apparently, she’d never adjusted to being a military wife or living out on a ranch and had packed up and left. To this day she had never returned.
“Your grandson and I have something in common,” Layla said, returning her thoughts to the conversation, “since chocolate chip cookies are my favorite, as well.”
As she bit into a cookie, she thought that chocolate chip being their favorite was all she and Gavin had in common. Unlike him, she hadn’t spent much time enjoying the opposite sex. She’d spent most of her life in school, getting her advanced degrees and working toward tenure with little time for male companionship. She had doctorates in History and Archaeology, and at twenty-six she was the youngest professor at Flintwood University in Seattle. That position had come with sacrifices such as limiting her social life, especially when it came to dating. The only people bothered by her decisions were her parents. They were hoping a man would come along and put a ring on her finger and a baby in her belly. She was their only child and they didn’t hide the fact they wanted grandchildren.
Nor had they ever hidden the fact they weren’t happy with her career choice. They were both gifted neurosurgeons and they’d expected her to follow in their footsteps by entering the medical field. They hadn’t been pleased when she’d chosen not to do so. The thought of someone digging a hole in the ground instead of saving lives didn’t make sense to them. But she’d never felt
