tackle.”
“What a terrific place to keep something like that.”
Though Tara silently agreed, she was annoyed by Josh’s wry tone. Equally annoying tingles shot through her as he brushed her arm, lifting the jumble from her hands.
“I doubt this has been used for thirty or forty years. It isn’t worth much now, but I’ll see if there’s anything that can be salvaged.”
She hesitated. The relationship between grandfather and grandson was obviously complicated, and they were putting her in the middle; she was starting to feel like a bone being growled over by two dogs. “I’ll discuss it with Walt,” she told him firmly.
Josh’s jaw tensed in a way that was rapidly growing familiar; he and his grandfather both seemed to have the same ticking muscle on their jawlines.
“Ms. Livingston, as I told you before, I own the Boxing N. My grandfather deeded it to me several months ago.”
“How soon after he got out of the hospital?”
Josh flinched. “The week after he got out of the rehab center, not that it’s any of your concern. He contacted his lawyer without telling anyone in the family what he was doing. Apparently he’s had the documents ready since my college graduation.”
“And now you’re determined to show him who’s in command.”
“That’s ridiculous, but a ranch has to have one boss, and Grandpa has made me legally responsible for everything that goes on here. I’ve got cowhands quitting because he keeps interfering, yet he no longer has the physical strength to do what needs to be done.”
It was a reasonable explanation, especially the part about being legally responsible, but Tara still sympathized with Walt. He’d spent a lifetime running the Boxing N, and giving up control must be difficult.
“At the risk of repeating myself, Walt hired me, not you,” she said evenly.
“And, as I said earlier, I’d like to hire you, as well. If you’re organizing the records anyway, it makes sense to do the computer work at the same time. Right?”
“I don’t care if it makes sense,” she declared. “What I do here is up to Walt, and he doesn’t want that. Would it hurt you to wait? Or are you trying to force equipment on him that he’s never used, hoping to push him out of the way?”
“You don’t know anything about it. Whether you like it or not, I’m having a computer delivered this week, along with a scanner and the other equipment needed to move this ranch into the twenty-first century.”
“Fine, but my using it depends upon Walt, so that equipment may not get a workout until you hire an office manager and shuffle him into an old folks’ home.”
“I’m not trying to shuffle him anywhere,” Josh hissed. “It isn’t any of your business, but for your information, I’m trying to give him some dignity and still keep this place running.”
“That isn’t what it looks like from my standpoint.”
Josh closed his eyes in obvious frustration.
“I’ll talk to my grandfather about the computer work,” he finally told her.
“Talk or demand?”
His jaw tightened again, but he picked up the armload of horse tackle and headed for the door without saying anything else.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” Tara said before he could leave.
He froze. “What?”
“Walt has a huge amount of experience running a ranch, and caution isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Why are you so opposed to learning from him? Has the business really changed that much?”
“You’d be surprised. As for learning from my grandfather, he can be challenging.”
She smiled faintly, knowing it would annoy Josh. “Actually, I think he’s delightful.”
* * *
AS JOSH WENT DOWN the steps of the office, he saw his grandfather coming from the direction of the horse barn.
Delightful? Much as he loved the old guy, delightful wasn’t the word he’d choose.
“This was in a filing cabinet,” he said, indicating the armload he carried. “I’ll get rid of it if there’s nothing useful.”
“I don’t give a crap. But I’m telling Tara I want everything computerized since you’re so highfalutin sure it’s needed.”
“I just asked her to do that,” Josh returned, all too aware that his request hadn’t gone anywhere. Tara was one of the most infuriating women he’d ever met.
“She’s working for me, so I’ll do the asking.”
Why couldn’t his grandfather let go of one blessed thing?
Tension crept up Josh’s neck. He could have bought a different ranch years ago when a spread south of Schuyler had come up for sale. He’d checked the place out and almost made an offer, but in the end it had felt as if he would be giving up on his heritage.
Josh glanced toward the rolling grassland studded with trees and livestock. His roots were here; the Boxing N had been in his mother’s family since the 1800s, and in the distance it gave way to mountains that were strikingly beautiful. Back then the land had been cheap, and his Nelson ancestors had bought a vast section of the lower mountainous region as part of the Boxing N, even though it didn’t support many cattle per acre.
Walt was slowly limping toward the office.
Josh sighed and followed. He caught up and endured his grandfather’s sour frown as they mounted the three steps. Hellfire, he wanted a good relationship with Walt, but few people, if any, had ever gotten close to him. Walt was like the land itself—unyielding, sometimes unforgiving, and oblivious to the changing times.
Inside they found Tara lifting an old hand water pump from a drawer; she glanced up as she dropped it onto the desk. She’d removed her suit jacket and there were smudges of dirt across the breast line of her blouse. Josh swallowed. Tara was bad news from start to finish, and he had no intention of allowing his attraction to her to go anywhere.
“Is something up?” she asked, her face becoming expressionless.
It struck Josh that her reactions generally seemed measured. Even when arguing with him, he’d had the impression her emotions were carefully controlled. He didn’t trust that kind of restraint. As a rule the McGregors and Nelsons were passionate people; it might mean extra conflicts along the way, but at least you knew where you stood.
“My grandfather wants to expand your work parameters,” he said before Walt could explain.
Walt deserved his dignity, but so did he. He certainly didn’t deserve to be treated as if he was thirteen instead of thirty-three.
“I’ve been thinking about my grandson’s la-di-da modern ideas.” Walt huffed. “So I’ve decided you should
