It was all Trevor could do to hang on to his temper. “We don’t make bets on the women around here,” Trevor said.
Vince looked around, obviously disappointed no one else was reaching for their money.
With a slimy smile, Vince slid his wallet back in his pocket. “That’s too bad for me—although it’s probably smart on you all’s part, because I’m going to win this wager.” Vince tipped his hat, looked every man there in the eye and sauntered out.
“We don’t need that element around here,” Nevada Fontaine, the feed store owner, grumbled in Vince’s wake.
No kidding, Trevor thought.
“How’d you get to be associated with him anyway?” The farm equipment salesman, Parker Arnett, asked.
“We were both in the Aggie cattle management program at the same time.” As much as Trevor had tried, there had been no avoiding Vince Owen.
Vince had set his sights on Trevor early on, and competed viciously with him ever since.
“You don’t seem to be friends,” fellow rancher, and esteemed head of the local rancher’s association, Dave Sabado, remarked.
Nor would they ever be, Trevor thought, as everyone looked at him. Trevor knew this was his opportunity to tell everyone the whole sorry story. How ugly things had gotten before he landed the top honors of his program at A&M, how he’d lost the affection and respect of the only woman he had ever been serious about in his life, how he had figured once he graduated he could say good riddance to the fellow-ranching student who had made him a target of the unhealthiest competition Trevor had ever seen, only to find out the hard way that Vince Owen’s obsession with besting Trevor was never going to end.
Unfortunately, that meant he’d be trashing another man’s reputation in public and Trevor made it a policy never to do that. So he figured it best he keep his own considerable resentment to himself. The men here were smart enough not to fall prey to men of Vince Owen’s ilk, anyway. “Vince has a history of buying and selling increasingly bigger ranches. No doubt his purchase of the Circle Y Ranch is just a temporary thing. He’ll make some improvements, stay just long enough to sell it for a profit, and move on.”
“And meantime?” Nevada Fontaine asked, signaling some of his help over to begin loading the feed Trevor had just purchased into his pickup truck.
“I plan to do my best to steer clear of him,” Trevor said, with a shrug.
“What about Rebecca Carrigan?” Nevada asked.
“I’ll keep her away from him,” Trevor said. No way was Vince Owen hurting Rebecca the way he had hurt Jasmine.
“If she hears about the bet Vince Owen just tried to make…” Parker Arnett didn’t need to finish the thought.
“She won’t, as long as none of us tell her about it.” Trevor looked each and every one of the men who had witnessed the attempted wager, in the eye. “Agreed?”
Slowly, the others nodded.
“Good.” Trevor breathed a sigh of relief. “’Cause there’s no use hurting Rebecca’s feelings.” And no use in putting her in the middle of the continuing clash between him and Vince Owen. She’d have enough to deal with when she found out the ranch she wanted to buy was not for sale after all.
Chapter Two
“What do you mean you sold the ranch to Rebecca Carrigan?” Trevor McCabe said, an hour later. He stood in the living room of the Primrose Ranch house, watching Miss Mim pack up the last of her cherished travel guides and books. The community librarian and veteran traveler was like a second mother to all the kids in Laramie, maybe because she’d never married or had children of her own. Trevor had grown up knowing he could confide in her. “You and I had an understanding.”
Miss Mim handed him the dispenser of packing tape. As always, she was dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit that clashed with her flame-red hair. Moving more like a twenty-year-old than the sixty-eight-year-old woman she was, she patted him on the arm, then pointed to the box. “I think the ‘understanding’ was more on your part, dear, than mine.”
Trevor bent to line up the cardboard flaps. The tape made a ripping sound as it left the spool. “What do you mean?” he demanded, pressing the adhesive on the box with the flat of his palm.
Miss Mim unfolded the last cardboard moving carton and turned it over so Trevor could tape up the bottom of the box. She smiled at him fondly as he assisted her. “You have no problem making up your mind. And you always tell people what you want.”
“You just don’t listen,” Rebecca Carrigan said, coming into the room.
Trevor hadn’t known Rebecca was on the premises. It figured she would be. He turned to square off with her for the second time that day, felt his senses kick into hihgh gear. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. It was the way she moved—with a kind of sexy, inherent grace. The way her lips curled softly and her chin tilted stubbornly. The slender curves hidden beneath the pink cotton shirt and faded jeans—along with her straight and silky honey blond hair, challenging golden brown eyes and delicate features—made it impossible for him to look away. Even though it was abundantly clear she wished he would disappear. “How would you know whether I pay attention or not?” he asked.
Rebecca shrugged in mute superiority and gestured at their surroundings. She took the deed out of her pocket and waved it in front of him like a matador waving a cape in front of a bull. “Case in point, cowboy, since this place is now mine, not yours.”
Trevor felt like pawing the ground. Maybe because he had never been so ticked off, disappointed, and yes—humiliated. Figuring he would deal with Rebecca Carrigan later, he turned back to Miss Mim. “I told you I would buy The Primrose from you, at whatever price you deemed fair.”
Miss Mim straightened and stated patiently, “And I said I would keep that in mind.”
Trevor took over the job of fitting the last of her books into the carton. “And then sold it to Rebecca without giving me a chance to even make a bid?”
Miss Mim stood back, to watch Rebecca load the filled boxes onto a moving dolly. “She needs the land, dear. You already have a ranch.”
Frowning—it went against his grain to let a woman lift things when he was there and could do it for her—Trevor brushed Rebecca aside. “A ranch that you know I would like to expand.”
Miss Mim led the way to the front door and held it while Trevor pushed the dolly through. “Perhaps you can make the same arrangement with her that you’ve had with me, regarding grazing rights.”
Rebecca followed them to Miss Mim’s aging Cadillac. She fit the suitcases into the backseat, while Trevor set the cartons in the already-crammed trunk. Rebecca closed the door. Trevor shut the trunk. The warm April air was scented with primroses and the earthier smells of new grass, sunshine and grazing cattle. Despite this being one of his busiest times of year on the ranch, it was also the most pleasurable. Well, not this year.
Rebecca flashed him another provoking smile.
“Not going to happen, Miss Mim,” Rebecca said with a defiant toss of her head. “In fact,” her eyes
