Charles denied it,” Ike said.
“Could that be possible? Is there more gold on the land?”
“I don’t think so, Warren. We all know the history and Daddy and Charles had surely heard the rumors. They spent a good deal of time and money searching when they first moved here, but aside from that one small vein that was found and mined, they had no luck. I think if there was any grand buried treasure, they would have found it.”
The doorbell rang, followed by the sounds of several people entering the house.
“That would be your brother and sister,” Jennifer said. “In here, children!” She left the room to greet them.
“So do you think I should move the fence, Dad?”
“That’s going to have to be your call, son. But just remember, if you give some people an inch...they’ll take a mile.”
Warren and Ike joined Jennifer and his siblings at the table. Talk of land and fences was replaced with that of plans for the town’s annual Days of Paradise Gala, a three-day event celebrating the town’s beginning. Fairgrounds would be set up on the north end of town. There would be a parade, various contests and the pinnacle of the festivities: the Paradise Ball. The women conversed about what family favorite Jennifer should bake for the pie contest, and what designer original they’d wear to the dance. The men talked about how Drake Realty Plus would be showcased in the parade. Niko had secured a fully restored 1975 Caprice convertible—metallic gold with wide, white rims. The car, built in the year that Paradise Cove had been incorporated, would tow a thirty-foot billboard specially designed for the day, covered with a mural of old and modern-day Paradise Cove and containing the words Drake Realty: Homes with a Heart for 30 Years...and Counting! Throughout the appetizer, entrée and dessert they talked, laughed and strategized. Warren answered questions when asked and commented as needed. But his mind wasn’t on the upcoming festivities. It was on a feisty woman with an attitude and a body that made his blood boil.
Give some people an inch...they’ll take a mile. That’s what his father had said. Well, Daddy, Warren thought as he watched his mother pour cups of tea. I might just have to take that chance.
Chapter 4
Warren thought about riding over. Jumping on Coal, the Thoroughbred stallion he’d purchased several years ago when he was still a pony. Thought about kicking up dust and laying down grass, much like Charli had done when arriving at his place. He’d been impressed with her horsemanship and a part of him wanted to show her that she wasn’t the only one who could sit in a saddle and handle business.
Warren had been riding horses since he could walk and of all of his brothers was the one most connected to the land. But he bypassed the stables and headed to the makeshift parking lot that when finished would be a circular design that could comfortably hold a dozen vehicles or more. He’d drive over, like most people would in the twenty-first century. I’m not trying to impress her; no reason to. This thought entered his mind as he opened the door to his cherry-red Maserati and slid inside.
After discussing it with his brother and Jackson, he’d come up with an answer to his neighbor’s problem. Not that he needed to, mind you. What happened on her land with her property was not his responsibility. No sirree, as his grandfather would say. And even though he’d be sure and keep mindful of the mile his father warned some would take for an inch of kindness, Warren also heeded his mother’s words to “play nice” and his own desire to take a chance.
* * *
She sensed him first. Before seeing the dust, before hearing the car, Charli felt a squiggle go from her core to a place that had seen little action in the past two years. Rising from her kneeling position where she’d been pulling the weeds trying to get friendly with her kales and collards, she shielded her eyes from the midday sun and squinted. Rare for a car to be coming down this road and she wouldn’t know who it was. But she did know. Could sense that it was him. One of them. One of the bourgie possums. Who else would drive such a swanky car in the middle of dirt roads, jackrabbits and tumbleweed?
“What does he want?” she mumbled, angrily pulling off her gardening gloves and trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. “He’s the last person I want to see.” Liar! She began walking to the road on slightly shaky legs, anger rising at the way her body reacted. He was just a man. Her farm was full of them. She’d grown up with them all around her. And now of all times she was growing moist between her legs? Ridiculous.
She reached the drive just as Warren turned off the engine. She stood there, arms crossed, face properly scowled to show the working of one’s nerves. The nonchalant mask threatened to slip a bit as after a brief moment the man got out—translation: uncoiled—his long, lean frame from a car that looked too small to hold him. She’d refused to consider it yesterday but now allowed herself to guess. Around six-four. Or five. Around two hundred pounds. Probably five percent body fat. She tried to digest these thoughts with the disinterest of one examining cattle flesh. In that vein, this was a very nice bull.
* * *
When he first turned off the engine, Warren didn’t move. He sat there fairly entranced at the vision before him. Backlit by the sun, she looked like an angel: a halo of long, unruly hair, skin bronzed and glowing, fitted white tee that unlike the oversize one she’d worn yesterday clung to her ample breasts and let him know that she was all woman. Her jeans were worn and tattered, clinging to curvy thighs, toned, no doubt, by the way she rode a horse. She can probably clench them tight enough to crack a walnut. Blood rushed to another nut, followed by thoughts of what else she could clench, causing Warren to shift his body and his thoughts while reaching for the door handle and finding a smile.
“Good afternoon.” A curt nod was her greeting. “Nice-looking place you’ve got here.” She cocked her head to the other side. Okay, so she wouldn’t win the trophy for Miss Congeniality. Warren decided to bypass the small talk and get right to the point. “I, uh, think I might have an answer to the problem you mentioned yesterday.”
She uncrossed her arms. “I’m listening.”
With her arms now at her side, Warren found himself drawn once again to that rack of a body: full, round breasts, narrow waist, wide hips...damn. Is it possible for her to look even better than she did yesterday? She placed her hands in her back pockets and fixed him with a look that suggested she was long on agitation and short on patience.
“We can put a gate on that part of the fence, the part that’s by the stream.”
“Will it be locked?”
“Most likely. It’s too far away for my men to oversee and while it’s a good distance away from the vineyard, I don’t want to have to wonder who or what might be sneaking through.”
“So how is this giving access to my cattle?”
“Just tell me what time you need it open and I can make sure that happens.”
“I don’t appreciate having to give you a schedule.”
“And I don’t appreciate your funky attitude. Has anybody ever pointed it out to you?”
“A time or two.”
It was a brief instant, a nanosecond really, but Warren could have sworn that the merest of smiles accompanied this statement. And he would be damned if he didn’t kind of like it.
“We can install a gate and
