The breeze created by her huffy departure almost blew Colt’s hat off his head. He turned to see Rory Marsh’s face pressed to the window. As the boy’s mother tugged on his sleeve, Rory kept waving at Colt, mouthing a litany of goodbyes.
“Summer seemed upset with you. Did I hear you propose to her?” Megan asked, poking her tongue into her cheek as she handed Colt his change.
“What?” Colt dropped his money clip. He bent to retrieve it and came up glaring. “I did no such thing,” he growled. “And if I hear a rumor to that effect at White’s, I’ll know where it came from. Tomorrow I’m helping her rescue the young of that eagle she found wing-shot today. That, for the record, is the extent of my involvement with Mrs. Marsh.” Dropping his cash on the counter next to Summer’s, Colt did a repeat of her exit. The only difference was that he stalked down the street to the bar frequented by her husband, while Summer roared out of the parking lot, headed home.
Well, her home for the next few months, Colt told himself, stiff-arming open the door to White’s.
Great! Just his bad luck that the only person seated at the bar tonight was Frank Marsh.
CHAPTER THREE
COLT SUSPECTED HE STILL looked disgruntled when the bartender came to take his order, because the man made a remark about his mood.
“Women,” Colt muttered, as if that explained everything. “I’ll have a light beer. Preferably one on draft.”
Frank Marsh, who usually sat in a cluster of friends, swung around and studied Colt. Hoisting his glass in salute, Frank said sarcastically, “Must be another poor slob who’s been worked over by his wife or his ex.”
Colt didn’t respond, but sipped his beer and wished he had a cigarette. Smoking was something he’d been deprived of during his jungle confinement. He’d renewed the habit soon after his escape and return to U.S. soil, but had quit voluntarily when his friends dried him out from his brief foray into booze. Only at times like this did he miss having a smokescreen to set up between him and someone as obnoxious as Frank Marsh.
Either Frank had drunk one too many to notice Colt’s attempt to sit by himself or he plain didn’t care. Calling for a refill, Marsh picked up the mug he hadn’t quite finished and eased down several stools to sit next to Colt.
“Buy you a round, buddy? I’ve had a crappy day, and I hate to drink alone.”
“Thanks, but one’s my limit.” Colt caught the bartender’s eye and gave a shake of his head, which the man acknowledged. Glancing at Frank Marsh, Colt decided if Frank wanted to unload—well, then, what the hell. “What made your day so bad?” he asked, knowing it probably had to do with the six-month reprieve Summer had alluded to at the café.
“My fiancée gets back tomorrow. I’ve gotta tell her I’ve been shafted on the sweetest land deal a man could ever hope to stumble across in this lifetime. Jill, that’s my gal, put the package together and sold it to a class-A resort mogul. My ex is trying to wreck the deal. But she won’t succeed if I can help it.”
Frank polished off what was left in his mug and latched on to the full one. Colt thought for a minute that was the beginning and end of Frank’s tale. As he was mulling over whether or not to say more, Frank wiped beer foam from his mouth.
“My ex may figure she pulled a fast one because that bastard judge gave her six months to buy out my share of the ranch. My lawyer calls it a simple snag. But I don’t like snags.”
He stopped talking, pushed up his shirtsleeve and squinted at an expensive watch in the dim light of the bar. “She’ll discover ol’ Frank isn’t that easily suckered.” Dropping his cuff, Frank called to the bartender. “Kenny, what time did I make that phone call? Half an hour ago, wasn’t it? Where in hell are those idiots?”
It didn’t seem to matter that no one answered Frank. He lifted his mug, turned back to Colt and clinked their glasses. “Always pays to have an ace up your sleeve, my friend. To say nothing of a spare woman willing to warm your bed.”
Colt repeated pretty much what he’d said to Summer earlier. “One trip to the altar was all I needed. Besides, men have been shot for having an ace up their sleeve.”
Frank laughed and pounded Colt on the back. It was clear the other man was on the verge of feeling his drink. “I didn’t mention marriage, did I? I wouldn’t have gotten hitched the first time if her old man hadn’t demanded a ring. My bad luck the old cuss lived as long as he did. Crazy fool believed I’d spend the rest of my life humping one woman and breaking my back for the paltry sum you can make raising cattle.”
“I don’t know cattle,” Colt said, wondering how anyone thought this guy was charming. “Raising horses for the rest of my born days—now, that appeals to me.”
“Cows and horses,” Frank spat out. “They’re blights on otherwise usable land. A guy can make a lot more dough selling the same acreage to a developer.”
“You’re talking to the wrong person, chum. I hate urban sprawl. Give me wide open spaces over postage-stamp lots any day.”
Frank slitted his eyes and stared long and hard at Colt, who decided maybe Marsh wasn’t as sloshed as he’d first seemed.
“If that’s how you feel, dude, my advice is to push on to someplace like Montana. My fiancée is a real estate guru. According to surveys she’s seen, the U.S. population will double in the next century. Raw land’s where real money’s gonna be made. You can climb on the bandwagon or go down under its wheels.” As he gazed over Colt’s shoulder, Frank’s tense lips split into a big grin.
Colt turned to see several men dressed in blue jeans and plaid work shirts troop through the swinging doors. He was trying to recall whether he’d ever seen them at White’s before, when he realized Frank had slid off his stool and was hailing the newcomers. Marsh’s parting shot to Colt made no sense.
“Like I said, stranger, if a man’s after money, he better be holding a fifth ace. Then all he’s gotta do is sit back and rake in the proceeds. You know what I mean? Everything in the pot.”
Colt watched Frank join the others—four men in all. They chatted briefly, then disappeared through a door at the back of the bar. Colt hadn’t noticed it before. But the bartender prepared a tray with a bottle of whiskey and five glasses, which he carried through the same door. Colt supposed Marsh had been referring to poker. It wouldn’t surprise him to discover the man gambled in addition to his other vices.
While an interesting sidebar, Frank’s vices didn’t have much relevance to Colt or SOS. Merely rubbing elbows with Marsh had soured his taste for beer, Colt discovered. He dug a few bucks out of his pocket, tossed them on the bar, then collected his things and walked out.
On the way to his room, he castigated himself for not pumping Frank more. However, while eavesdropping earlier on Summer, he’d verified the dollar figure Adams intended to fork over for the Marsh land. As well, he’d learned SOS had up to six months to top the Adams bid.
Colt had been told his boss, Marley Jones, possessed a phenomenal ability to raise large amounts of cash in short periods of time. SOS should be able to muscle in on this deal with no sweat. Soon, a closer would arrive in Callanton, freeing Colt for the consortium’s next project. And he could move on and put Summer Marsh completely out of his mind.
The
