at the bank disagree.” He leaned forward. “Advertising a gun-for-hire only reinforced our opinion that you’re in over your head.”
Did the man think her stupid? Was he carrying a mouse in his pocket? “We, or you, Mr. Kuhn?” Mona stood, anger pushing her blood pressure skyward. Not good for the baby.
His brows rose and he eased to his feet. “The bank, of course. Not me personally.”
“Right.” Mona held out the check she’d come to deliver. “I came to make my mortgage payment.”
The man stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m afraid that isn’t enough. You do realize your mortgage is on a seven-year adjustable-rate plan with a balloon note at the end, do you not?”
Mona stared at the banker for a full thirty seconds. She’d spent all of her time on the ranch in the saddle, not behind the desk. Her father handled the finances up until the day he died. When she took over, she’d only done what she had to do to make payments and keep money in the checking account. “No, I didn’t realize. What does it mean?”
Kuhn’s brows rose. “This is the end of the seven-year period. The balloon payment is due in less than thirty days.”
“It is?” She swallowed, her throat dry as a desert. “Can’t we roll it over into a fixed-rate loan?”
“I’m afraid not.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his face blank of all emotion. “The bank doesn’t consider you a good risk. You have thirty days to pay the balance in full or we begin foreclosure proceedings on the property.”
The ground threatened to open up and suck in Mona. With more than a little effort, she fought off that dizzy, fuzzy-headed feeling and the encroaching blackness. Instead of fainting, she squared her shoulders and faced Mr. Kuhn. “You can’t do that. We’ve done business with this bank ever since I can remember.” How much was left on the loan? Thirty, forty, fifty thousand? No way could she come up with that kind of money.
“I’m sorry, Miss Grainger, but the decision has been made.” He sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Have you considered selling the ranch to someone more…capable?”
Mona’s hackles rose. Even though she’d doubted her ability lately, she sure as hell wouldn’t let Mr. Kuhn know that. “I’m perfectly capable of managing the ranch on my own.”
“How about selling to one of the oil speculators here in town? I hear Lang Oil Exploration is acquiring property.”
Stealing, more likely. Everyone who’d sold to Lang Oil lately had gotten the shaft in some way or other. And not an oil-drilling shaft.
Plucking up enough anger to make her voice strong, Mona stood. “Rancho Linda is not for sale. And for your information, I’m every bit as capable as my father was to run it.”
“I’m afraid the bank doesn’t see it that way. I’m sorry, but we won’t be renewing your loan and we won’t accept less than the payoff amount of fifty thousand one hundred and twenty-six dollars. I’ll give you thirty days to comply.”
“Thirty days? You couldn’t give me a little more time to secure financing?” Her head spun with the amount of money she’d have to come up with. Even if she sold all her remaining cattle, she wouldn’t come close to the amount she needed, and she’d be out of stock, nothing to start over with, nothing to pay the overhead.
“You’ve had seven years. We sent a payment-due notice in your last statement. I’m really surprised you haven’t come in sooner to discuss this matter with me.”
He was lying and Mona wasn’t buying it. “I never saw it.”
Jeffrey Kuhn sat behind his desk, tapping the point of a pen against his date calendar. “Are you having trouble with your mail service as well as cattle rustling?”
“Do you think I’d get this upset if I had received the notice? Don’t you think I’d have been in here much earlier, had I known?” Granted, she hadn’t had time to go through all of what she’d thought was junk mail, but she’d opened and paid her bills. If there had been a note from the bank, she’d have opened it. “Damn it, I know I haven’t gotten a single letter from you.”
Mr. Kuhn’s gray-blond brows rose. “I can’t help it if your mail isn’t getting to you. The bank stands firm. I’m sorry, Miss Grainger, my hands are tied. Unless you can come up with the payoff amount in thirty days—” he leaned over to look at the desk calendar “—that would be on the twentieth of next month—the Prairie Rock Bank will have to start foreclosure proceedings on the property.”
“I’m not believing this.”
He shrugged. “I suggest you find another financial institution rather than filing for bankruptcy. You might also consider letting go of some of your help. Like your new hire.” He glanced down at his watch, then abruptly stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.” He cupped her elbow with a cool, clammy palm and urged her from her chair, practically pushing her out the door.
Still too stunned to respond, Mona let him usher her out, stopping only as they emerged in the bank lobby. “Mr. Kuhn…” When she turned to confront her new nemesis, she could have stomped her foot in frustration.
Jeffrey Kuhn had left her standing alone while he smiled and greeted two men wearing expensive suits. With little more than a passing glance her way, Kuhn ushered the wealthier clients through the door of his office, closing it firmly behind them.
Well, that was that. If she needed confirmation that her uncle was right and she was fighting a losing battle, today’s news was it.
In a daze, she stumbled out into the Texas sunshine beating the heat into the top of her bare head. She plunked her straw hat in place and stared around the brick-paved Main Street of Prairie Rock, at a loss for what to do. Her feet carried her the two blocks south to Dee’s Diner near the town square. She’d left her truck parked near the diner for her lunch date with Catalina, Rosa and Fernando’s only daughter.
By the time she pushed through the swinging glass entrance of the café, perspiration beaded on her brow and upper lip and slid down between her pregnancy-enhanced breasts. Since when had walking become more difficult?
Catalina Garcia met her at the door, a mug in one hand and a carafe of aromatic coffee in the other. “Hey, sweetie.”
Mona smiled and carefully hugged her friend without spilling the coffee.
“Would you hurry it up? We don’t have all day.” Wayne Fennel sat at a table several yards away, facing Mona. His shiny new cowboy boots tapped against the linoleum-tiled floor, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome face. The guy had always been a jerk, especially as a football player in high school. Now he owned a body shop with his partner Les Newton, another equally big jerk.
Les turned to stare at Mona, barely giving her more than a glance, but his gaze ran the length of Catalina’s bare legs, a leer forming on his tanned face. A quiet and more creepy version of Wayne.
Mona wanted to throw up. Gentlemen, they weren’t. If a barroom fight was what you wanted, you could count on those two to deliver.
Catalina grimaced at Mona and tipped her head toward an empty booth in the far corner. “Take a seat by the window.
