the less-flattering things that were said about Camden business practices.
“It’s hot out here, so let’s see if I have everything straight so you can get out of this sun,” he continued. “You want to live in my guesthouse, you want me to clear out the old attic and barn, and you want to put a road through Camden land for your training center.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, yes and no.”
“Yes, yes and no …” Lacey repeated.
“Yeah, sure, you can use my guesthouse—which does have a small kitchen, if you ever want to eat. Sure, I’ll clear out the attic and the barn. But no way, here and now, am I giving the go-ahead to put a road anywhere on my property without a whole lot more information and …”
“Making sure that it’s to the Camdens’ advantage,” Lacey muttered to herself.
“… without a whole lot more information and consideration of what all it would involve,” he concluded. “At the time your father bought the property he was figuring the road that leads to the house and barn would work just fine. It isn’t any of my doing if that’s changed.”
“It was your doing to buy the McDoogal place so we had to make so many changes,” Lacey reminded him. She wanted him to know that she had no intention of letting a Camden get one over on her.
Seth Camden shrugged. “The McDoogal place was for sale, it connects to my place, I bought it. That’s all there is to it.”
And appearing innocent even when they weren’t had been his great-grandfather and grandfather’s trademark.
Still, Lacey knew she would get nowhere pushing him about the McDoogal place, and it was water under the bridge now, anyway. So she dropped it and concentrated on what she needed to accomplish.
“But yes, I can rent your guesthouse, and you will clear the attic and the barn?” she summarized.
“Absolutely.”
“We should probably discuss rent,” she suggested.
He shrugged again and Lacey couldn’t help noticing that. Boy, oh, boy, were those nice shoulders….
Then he said, “You can just stay there. As my guest—it is a guesthouse, after all. Let’s just consider it good relations between business associates.”
Strings. That was part of what she’d learned about the early Camdens—there were always strings attached to what his forefathers did. She didn’t think she could take the chance that Seth Camden might uphold the tradition.
“I’d prefer paying you,” Lacey insisted.
“Okay, pay me whatever you think is fair, then. It really makes no difference to me. Just tell me when you want to move in.”
“Tomorrow evening?”
“Okay. And then we can set a time for me to come out to the old house and see what was left behind. But for now I’m not kidding—you better either get out of this sun or use some of my sunblock.” He nodded toward his tools and gear at the fence.
“I’ll just go,” Lacey said. “But we will need to talk more about the road.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” he said, as if it meant nothing to him.
They could work something out …
Lacey didn’t respond to that. Another of the things that she’d learned in the lectures about the Camdens was that H.J. and Hank had been very big into the you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours mentality.
After saying her goodbye, she turned to make her way back to the road where she’d parked.
“Careful!” he cautioned when she came close to falling yet again.
Lacey righted herself and glanced back to find him still standing where she’d left him, watching her.
“I’m fine,” she called over her shoulder, continuing the way she’d come but taking extra care not to stumble again while he looked on.
She got all the way back to the road before she stole another glance at Seth Camden.
He was still watching her, so she waved as if to tell him she didn’t require any more of his supervision and got into her car.
But she couldn’t help casting another glance out into the field. Seeing him finally return to his work, she inadvertently took in the sight of that amazing backside again.
No more! she ordered herself, forcing her eyes to the road and starting her engine.
But as she drove away she was thinking about the you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours mentality.
And wishing that she wasn’t imagining scratching that back of his quite so literally.
Or quite so vividly …
Chapter Two
“Hey, Cade, it’s Seth.”
“Oh, man, you gotta remember that I don’t keep farmer’s hours,” Cade complained in a gravelly voice. Seth’s call had obviously awakened him.
Seth laughed. It was only 7:00 a.m. on Thursday when he called his brother in Denver. Still he couldn’t resist goading him. “I thought big businessmen had to rise and shine with the sun, too.”
“No meetings today—I was going to get to sleep until seven-thirty, damn you.”
“Them’s the breaks, pal—I had to be up two hours ago to talk to our guy running the Kentucky farm, so now I’m headed out to finish fixing a fence and figured I’d get you before I left,” Seth explained.
Despite the fact that Seth was the oldest of the Camden grandchildren and so had had the option of heading the operation, he’d instead chosen to handle the Northbridge ranch and oversee all the other agricultural aspects of Camden Incorporated, leaving the CEO and chairman of the board positions to brother Cade, who was a year younger.
All of the Camdens except Seth thrived in the city, in Denver, where they’d grown up. But Seth was the country boy of the bunch by choice. When it came to the business end of things, he oversaw the farms, ranches and dairies that Camden Inc. owned. He far preferred getting his hands dirty.
“Did we lose more cattle at the Kentucky place?” Cade asked. They’d been talking frequently about a vandalism problem that had been ongoing on the Kentucky farm.
“No, actually they caught the culprits—it was just kids,” Seth said. “Kids whose family owned some of the land once upon a time and decided to make a statement—you know the song.”
“Somebody has an old grudge against us and they passed it down,” Cade said without surprise.
“That’s the one,” Seth confirmed.
“What
