She didn’t like the sound of that. Old school was not usually the best practice when it came to business, but then Angela had said the place was about fifty years behind the times.
“I’ll have him get hold of you,” Ryan said.
“That’s what Mrs. Garcia said yesterday.”
“Jessie’s kind of busy with the kids right now. Maybe it slipped her mind. I’ll have Walt down here by the end of the day.”
“Thank you.” She shifted her weight, wishing she wasn’t feeling the urge to let her eyes travel slowly down his long body. “When would be a good time to meet with you?”
He looked over her head, out at the pastures, seemed to debate then said, “Whenever you want.”
“Half an hour? At the house?”
Ryan shrugged. “Sure. Half an hour.”
“See you then.”
* * *
RYAN SLOWLY CLOSED the door. This woman was here to evaluate the ranch? Great timing.
He watched through the half-open curtains as she walked across the graveled drive toward the main house. Ellison Hunter wore jeans that hugged her legs, a long expensive-looking sweater and flat ballerina shoes. Her dark blond hair was twisted up into one of those French-roll things that made him want to pull out the pins and let it fall back down. Cool and elegant, she didn’t look like any kind of ranch expert he’d ever seen, but looks could be deceiving. One of the best ropers he’d ever encountered was a sixty-five-year-old grandmother. And she wasn’t half bad at flanking and throwing, either.
Ellison disappeared into the main house and Ryan stepped away from the window and headed back into the bedroom to find a decent shirt.
Damn. What was this about? It figured that the new owners were going to do something with the ranch, since it was, despite what Walt seemed to think, theirs. Walt had been hoping that the Bradworths would be like the new owners of the old Trail Creek Ranch and never set foot on the place, instead using it as some kind of a tax dodge, and, frankly, so had he. Not to be.
Twenty-five minutes later Ryan knocked on the main-house door. Ellison answered almost immediately and he noticed that she’d put on makeup. Nothing major—just brownish eyeliner that made her green eyes seem larger, and lip gloss. Her hair had been smoothed and she had changed out of the long sweater for a white blouse and black jacket that, despite the jeans, made her seem much more...official.
He didn’t have a good feeling about official.
Or maybe it was just that he hated being in the dark. Until matters were settled with the family and Walt came to terms with whatever their plans were, things could be a bit dicey.
“Have a seat,” Ellison said, waving him to one of a set of leather chairs near the tall windows looking out into the semitamed backyard. Walt had never been much for landscaping, but on Mrs. Bradworth’s first visit she had made it clear that the lawn was to be mowed regularly and the bushes trimmed back. Flowers would be nice. Unfortunately, the deer and rabbits had thought flowers were nice, too, resulting in a lot of stems and not many flowers.
After Ryan sat, Ellison took the opposite chair with her back to the windows and settled a yellow legal pad on her knee. Then she smiled at him. A cool, professional, put-you-at-ease smile that only served to tense him up. He’d seen a similar smile once before—just before getting laid off from his last job during college.
“Just a bit about me,” she said. “I work in the field of human resources, so I tend to focus on employees as...well, resources.”
Cool. He was a resource. With her fake, distant smile, she looked like the type who saw employees as resources rather than people.
“Employees are the most valuable component of a smooth-running operation, as I’m sure you know.”
The nasty feeling in the pit of Ryan’s stomach intensified. “This place runs smoothly.”
She smiled again, kind of, and clicked open her pen. “I’d like to talk to everyone employed here, find out what it is you do and how it contributes to the overall operation of the ranch.”
“Is this a formal evaluation?”
“Not really. It’s more of a get-to-know-the-operation evaluation.” She cocked her head. “That’s not a problem, is it?”
There was no way to answer that question honestly.
“It’s just a surprise, you showing up to get to know the operation,” Ryan said smoothly.
“My aunt told Mr. Feldman I was coming a week ago, so my visit is not really a surprise,” she replied in a reasonable voice.
As he’d thought. And Walt hadn’t said a thing until the very last minute when he’d phoned Jessie to send the keys and then gone off on his bender. Or perhaps he’d called midbender.
“The informal evaluation part,” he said. “Did your aunt mention it to Walt?” Because he didn’t believe Walt would have kept that secret. An evaluation was something they needed to prepare for—or at the very least, prepare Walt for.
“Actually, I’m not certain,” Ellison replied.
None of this felt good, but good or bad, he had to deal with it. Ryan leaned back in his chair. “What do you want to know?”
Ellison squared up her notepad. “What is your job title?”
“Cowboy.”
“No. Really.”
He spread his palms in an I-don’t-know-what-else-to-say gesture and she frowned as she realized he was serious. She wrote cowboy after his name.
“I guess you could call me a ranch hand, if it makes you feel better.”
“No, I’m fine with cowboy. And your duties are?”
Ryan leaned his head back slightly as he debated where to begin. “What season?”
Ellison’s eyebrows arched before she said with a faint note of challenge in her voice, “Spring.”
“Calving, branding, fencing. First cutting of alfalfa. Evaluate the grazing.”
Ellison made a note. “Summer?”
“Haying, fencing. Vaccinating. Moving cattle. Irrigating.” A movement outside the window caught his eye. A blue jay had landed on the flat box sitting on the picnic table. The bird turned his head to study the closed flaps through first one eye and then the other.
“Fall?” Ellison asked, and he turned his attention back to her.
“Getting the fields in shape for winter. Fall branding. Preg checking.”
“‘Preg checking’?” Strangely, her cheeks seemed to go a bit pink.
“Seeing which cows are pregnant, then deciding whether to keep or ship those who
