well aware of what your firm has been hired to do, Ms. Graystone. But I was under the impression Eli had been dealing with a man by the name of Michael Anderson.”
“Michael is the firm’s vice president and has been handling the account, yes. But he’s involved in another project where the opening date was unexpectedly moved up and has left him pressed for time. With your grand opening quickly approaching, I offered to take over your account.”
“You familiar with our account?” The Voice asked.
She lifted her chin a fraction and stared at the barren horizon. “I’m the firm’s president and owner. I’ve been through your account files extensively, and I fully understand the direction Michael had been taking things. He’s done a good job. I can take it from here.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The perceptible smile in The Voice’s response irked her. “Do you have a problem with me assuming this account?”
“Nope. As long as you keep in mind the same principles we drilled into Michael, I don’t care who handles our account.”
Curious. She hadn’t seen anything in the notes about hardline principles to respect. “Which principles, precisely, are you referring to?”
“We want to keep the ranch family focused, make sure it doesn’t become a commercial machine but rather an intimate experience for each guest and every booking. Do that and I don’t care what kind of equipment’s parked behind your zipper.”
She blinked wide eyes. “Glad to hear it,” she said, mimicking The Voice’s dry tone. If this guy was a Covington, and if he would be interacting with ranch guests, they were all in trouble. He couldn’t speak to strangers—paying strangers—this way.
“You want to talk to Eli?”
“Not necessary. I’m currently standing in the Amarillo airport and there are no rental cars to be had. I would appreciate it if you’d have someone pick me up.”
“You’re here,” The Voice deadpanned.
“If by ‘here’ you mean at the airport, then yes,” she answered, irritated that The Voice offered no courtesy. “More specifically, in case you missed it, said airport is in Amarillo. That would be Texas. Right inside the infamous Panhandle. I’m staring out the huge glass windows at a landscape that’s flat, dust-colored as far as the eye can see, and the wind is blowing. It isn’t even remotely similar to the brochure Michael created. Still, if that’s what you’re referring to as ‘here,’ then the answer stands.”
“I should have asked, ‘Why are you here?’” he clarified.
“Unannounced visit to put you through your paces before your guests arrive.” She tried not to fume at his ensuing curse. “We have fourteen days to work out any last-minute issues.”
He sighed. Something—a hand?—slid over the receiver on the opposite end. The Voice entered into a brief, muffled discussion with what sounded like another man and a woman. The Voice’s words, though indiscernible, conveyed his frustration loud and clear. If the dude ranch intended to operate this way, they wouldn’t last a single tourist season.
The Voice’s hand must have slipped from the receiver because Emmaline was able to determine the three were arguing over who would drive in to retrieve her. Travelers, particularly those with both the money for the experience and those bringing children, wouldn’t tolerate being abandoned at tiny airports as their well-paid “hosts” argued heatedly over who was supposed to have been at the airport to pick them up.
She’d have to put an end to this and figure it out on her own. “Excuse me?”
Nothing. No response whatsoever.
“Excuse me,” she said again, louder.
Still no response.
“Hey!” she shouted, ignoring the startled glances from the few passersby in the tiny airport.
“Give me a minute,” The Voice ordered.
She ran her fingers through her pixie cut, well aware it would make the ends stand up and not caring one whit. “I’ve given you more than forty-five between landing and now. If I were an actual customer, I’d be watching the clock, too. Now you’re telling me, not asking me, to give you more time. Not the best foot to start out on.”
“You’re here unannounced, so cut me a little slack.” His words were short and sharp.
“I am, yes. And I won’t, no,” she snapped. “You have one chance to make a first impression. So far? You’ve blown it. Badly. You’ll have to do better with your paying customers or you’re finished before you get started.”
Silence traveled between them, weaving together to form palpably fractious tension. This was far from the first instance she’d had to assert herself as a woman in a male-dominant world, and if The Voice believed he could wait her out, he had another think coming.
Several minutes passed, the only sound between them their mutual breathing.
The man in the background muttered something and The Voice sighed again, covered the mouthpiece and responded. Then he returned, his breathing soft and steady.
Enough was enough. She’d simply explain to the nameless man that he’d failed her test. She’d send Eli suggestions to fix the problems, namely to find an exceptional surgeon to perform an emergency personality transplant on The Voice. She’d wager everyone would benefit from it.
Leaving would also get her out of covering for Michael on an account where she was personally, uncharacteristically, out of her depth. He had briefed her on the dude ranch before she caught her flight to No Man’s Land, but he hadn’t mentioned what an incredibly tight-knit family the Covingtons were. She’d picked that up based on correspondence and notes she’d read on the flight into Amarillo. Everything in the file indicated the importance the family had placed—and The Voice had reemphasized—in keeping the ranch an intimate experience, not a commercial Wild West attraction.
Emma knew nothing about families, or how to foster intimacy in any way. A revolving staff of nannies and housekeepers had raised her, faces changing with predictable regularity. No one was ever good enough for her mother, efficient enough for her father or around long enough for the child Emma had been.
That left adult Emma entirely out of her element when it came to family units like the Covingtons. What they had was what she’d coveted all her life, and she had no more idea how to preserve it than she had to fit into it.
That decided it. She’d grab the next flight out of this dustbowl and return to Manhattan. Besides, skipping the dude ranch’s inaugural goat roasting or greased pig wrestling or whatever it was wouldn’t be a hardship. She opened her mouth to bow out at the same moment The Voice spoke.
“I’m sincerely sorry for the inconvenience.” He paused, clearly out of his element when it came to apologies. “The trip to Amarillo is almost three hours from here. If you’d like to catch a cab to a restaurant, I can pick you up there. Or, if you’d prefer to get a hotel and have a staff member pick you up tomorrow, the ranch will gladly reimburse any expenses you incur. Whatever makes you most comfortable is fine with us, Ms. Graystone.”
“It’ll
