to that. If he’d even tried to touch her, no matter how innocently, she probably would have grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door and clobbered him with it.
Even so, he hadn’t been able to shake that image of lost vulnerability. A lot of women who worked ranches side by side with their husbands grew hard, their muscles well formed, their skin burnished bronze by the sun. By contrast, Karen Hanson’s body was soft and feminine, her skin as pale as milk. The thought of that changing because she had to struggle to keep her ranch afloat bothered him for reasons that went beyond her refusal to give in and sell out to him.
He couldn’t help wondering what drove a woman like Karen Hanson. Well…loyalty to her husband, for one thing. There was no question about that. Pride. Stubbornness. He sighed. He was back to that again. It was hard to fight with someone who’d dug in her heels in defiance of logic.
But what did she long for beyond the travel that those brochures implied? In his experience most women wanted love, a family, the things he hadn’t had time for in his own life. Some wanted a meal ticket. Some had a mile-wide independent streak, needing little more than the occasional companionship of a man to make them content. Those were the ones who appealed to Grady. He had so many family obligations to the past, he didn’t have time to think about the future.
He tried to fit Karen Hanson into a tidy little niche, but she wouldn’t stay put. She was independent, no doubt about it, but her determination to fight her husband’s old battles said a lot about how she felt about family. Ironically, that very loyalty, every bit as strong as his own commitment to his ancestors, was likely to stand in his way.
He had derided himself on the trip home for trying to analyze the woman based on a half-hour meeting that had been rife with tension. He knew better. His grandfather—the single greatest influence in his life—believed in the necessity for walking a mile in another man’s moccasins before reaching conclusions about the choices they made. Thomas Blackhawk had tried to instill that same wisdom in Grady.
Unfortunately, Grady wasn’t usually capable of the patience required. He tended to make snap judgments. He asked straight questions, liked straight answers.
“And look where that got you today,” he muttered wryly. His grandfather would have been appalled, especially by the unveiled threat he had uttered on his way out the door.
He spent the evening taking stock, both of his own behavior and Karen Hanson’s responses to it. Unfortunately, there was little definitive information to go on. She was beautiful, stubborn, hardworking and loyal. He’d gotten that, but not much more, certainly nothing about the best way to handle her.
There was only one way to remedy that. He needed to spend more time with her. He had to discover what made the woman tick, what her hopes and dreams were now that her husband was gone.
And how he could use it to his own advantage, he reminded himself sharply, when the image of her in his bed stole over him. He was going to have to keep that image at bay, he warned himself.
He’d spent his whole life working toward a single goal—getting that land back for his family. His great-grandfather had instilled a desire for retribution in his son, Grady’s grandfather. The mission had been passed down to the next generation, and finally to Grady himself.
That land, part of his Native American heritage, part of a time when his ancestors had had no rights at all, was Blackhawk land. He couldn’t let anything—not even a woman as desirable as Karen Hanson—distract him from getting it back while his grandfather was still alive to savor the triumph.
He chuckled dryly as he imagined how she was going to react to any attempt on his part to get to know her. She’d probably shoot him on sight if he showed up at the ranch again, especially if she guessed that his mission was to find her weaknesses and exploit them.
For once he was going to have to follow his grandfather’s advice and rely on patience and maybe a little subterfuge to get what he wanted. There were a lot of chores around that ranch that needed doing. Karen struck him as a pragmatic woman. If he simply appeared one day and went to work, steering clear of her for the most part, would she run him off or accept the help because she knew she needed it? He was counting on the latter. Maybe over time, she would get used to his presence, come to accept it and allow him a little insight into her soul.
Grady lifted his beer in a silent toast to the ingenuity of his plan. By this time tomorrow he intended to have taken his first steps in Karen Hanson’s shoes.
Of course, he admitted ruefully, it remained to be seen if he’d live to tell about it.
“Why not sell to him?” Gina asked as the Calamity Janes sat in the ranch kitchen eating pasta that she had prepared. The room was filled with the rich scent of garlic and tomato and basil. A plate of garlic bread had been all but demolished and there were only a few strands of spaghetti left in the huge bowl she had prepared for the five old friends.
Karen had put out an urgent call for their help within minutes of Grady Blackhawk’s departure. She was counting on the Calamity Janes to give her advice and to keep her mind off the disconcerting effect his visit had had on her. Selling to Grady was not the advice she’d been expecting. She’d been hoping for some clever way to sidestep his determination permanently. That warning of his was still ringing in her ears.
“How can I sell to Grady?” Karen asked. “Caleb hated him. It would be the worst kind of a betrayal. And it would break his parents’ hearts. Even though they’ve moved, they still think of this ranch as home.”
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life struggling to keep the ranch afloat for two people who will never come back here? This place is a nostalgic memory for the Hansons. For you, it’s nothing but backbreaking work,” Cassie pointed out. “Don’t forget, you were relieved when your own parents sold out and moved to Arizona. You said you’d never set foot on a ranch again.” She grinned. “Of course, that was five minutes before you met Caleb, and from that moment on, all bets were off. You claimed to each and every one of us that you had always wanted to be a rancher’s wife.”
Karen frowned at the well-meant reminder. “No, to be perfectly honest, you’re right. I don’t want to be a rancher. I never did,” she admitted. “But—”
Cassie cut her off. “Then consider Grady’s offer if it’s a fair one. Caleb would understand.”
But Karen knew he wouldn’t. The kind of enmity he had felt for Grady Blackhawk was deep and eternal. It was an emotional, gut-deep hatred that couldn’t be abandoned in favor of practicality or sound business reasons or even sheer exhaustion, which was what she was beginning to feel as the endless days wore on.
“Okay, if the issue really comes down to keeping this place away from Grady Blackhawk, then I’ll buy the ranch,” Lauren said, drawing laughter.
“And what would you do with a ranch?” Karen asked, trying to imagine the big-screen superstar mucking out stalls or castrating bulls or any of the other backbreaking tasks required by ranching.
“You seem to forget that I grew up on a ranch, same as you,” Lauren replied with a touch of indignation. “In fact, nobody around here had a better way with horses than I did.”
“That was a long time ago. Somehow it’s hard to picture now. It doesn’t quite work with the glamorous image you’ve created in Hollywood,” Cassie said.
Lauren scowled. “It could work if I wanted to make it work. This glamour stuff is highly overrated.”
Karen
