minutes after one girl scored on her own net, he stopped to give high fives for effort when his team managed to recover a turnover.
He looked even better in real life than he had in the few photos she’d dug up on the Internet. He didn’t look like the brain trust of a complicated farm scam.
At that thought, her father’s words when she’d said as much came back to her:
“Becca, remember, he’s a crook. A scammer. You’re just buying into the stereotype that crooks look like crooks.”
MacIntosh had that going for him. With his red-blond hair and his muscled legs that showed off a tan darker than usual for guys his coloring, he certainly didn’t fall into the Wanted-poster category. He was good with the kids, patient. She’d seen him break up a fight earlier. He’d handled that well. Odd for a guy who didn’t have kids of his own.
Becca had made it her business to find out all she could about Ryan MacIntosh before she’d arrived. Thirty-two. Never been married. No scrapes with the law. He’d graduated with an associate’s from Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College and a bachelor’s and a master’s from University of Georgia. Then he’d taken a sales position with an agriculture chemical company. Moved to middle Georgia to run his grandfather’s farm after his grandfather’s death the year before.
The farm had been in his family for five generations. On it, Ryan MacIntosh had grown soybeans, corn and cotton. Lately, though, it seemed that MacIntosh’s chief crop was desperation.
Right now, the farm was the smallest in acreage owned by any full-time farmer in the county—and in the past it had been in tax trouble. She’d turned up a few closed-out liens, as well.
Yup. Ryan MacIntosh was a desperate man.
And, according to her dad, probably a crook, even if he did give peewee-soccer players high fives.
The game played on with Ryan’s Bulldogs taking a beating at the hands of the Blue Devils. Had he chosen that team moniker out of loyalty for his alma mater? What did a person do with a degree in agronomy, anyway?
“Hey, shove that Thermos over and have a seat. This thing could take awhile.”
Becca glanced over at the dark-haired guy with the cast. “Really? I figured it was just about over.”
“Nah. We got started late—the referee stood us up. I’m Jack MacIntosh.”
She moved the Thermos and reached over to shake his hand. “Becca Reynolds. Any relation to Ryan?”
“Sure, first cousins, but we’re more like brothers. Ryan hadn’t mentioned meeting any ladies.”
A smile tugged at her lips as she thought how Ryan was not going to like meeting her in the slightest. “We haven’t actually met.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Oh. One of those online deals?”
His words made her feel a little guilty as she thought about her own Rooster—whom she owed an e-mail and hadn’t had a chance to pay that debt since she’d been researching MacIntosh and the other players in this scheme.
“No. This is business.” Becca fished out a card and handed it to him.
“Reynolds Agricultural Investigations.” Jack looked up from the card, a chill in his eyes. “You’re what? A hired gun for a crop-insurance firm?”
Becca had seen that chill before. Farmer types didn’t much care for her or her dad.
At least he didn’t make a cutesy remark about me investigating how many peppers Peter Piper picked. “I’m a private investigator. I work as a consultant for the insurance company that covers several of the farmers in this area, yes. I wouldn’t say a hired gun—”
“I know about people like you. I own an insurance agency.”
Her alarm bells started jangling. “Crop insurance?”
He laughed, a derisive snort. “You kidding? You can’t make any money selling crop insurance in south Georgia. No, strictly homeowners and auto, as well as life and a few health-insurance policies.”
Becca nodded, staying quiet to see what else Ryan MacIntosh’s cousin would volunteer. She didn’t have to wait long.
“So why are you investigating Ryan?”
“Who says I’m investigating your cousin?”
A shadow fell across her, and Becca looked up to see the man in question standing over her.
“Hand me that stack of cups, if you don’t mind.”
Ryan’s voice was clipped. She picked up the requested cups and extended them his way.
He knelt down beside her to get a refill. The hair on his muscled forearms glinted golden in the late-afternoon sun, and his T-shirt clung damply to a well-sculpted set of pecs that indicated he lifted something besides bales of hay.
He downed the sports drink and crumpled the cup in his hand. Rising to his feet on those marvelous legs of his, he stuck out a hand.
“I gather you’re looking for me. I’m Ryan MacIntosh.”
His clear blue gaze unsettled her. She felt heat rising in her face, struggled to remind herself that he was the one who should be on the defensive, not her.
“Becca Reynolds.” She started to reach for another card, but Jack reached up and handed Ryan the one she’d just given to him.
It was telling that Ryan didn’t even look at it. He never took his eyes off hers. Funny. She’d have sworn that a man with his coloring would have had green eyes.
“Richard Murphy told me somebody would be sniffing around. You already inspected his farm?”
“No. I thought I’d start with yours. I called ahead, and a lady gave me directions here, said I’d find you at the rec department.”
“That’d be Mee-Maw.” A small trace of pain flickered over his features. “She’s my grandmother—our grandmother. She’s nearly eighty-five.”
“Really?” Becca chose to ignore his veiled hint to back off in deference to his grandmother. “On the phone, she sounded younger than that.”
“Longevity runs in our family. Right, Jack?” But again, Ryan never took his eyes off Becca’s.
“Yup. Gramps worked that farm till the day he died—and he was eighty-six when he passed on.”
“I look forward to meeting her,” Becca said.
Again pain crossed Ryan’s features. Truth be told, Becca did feel a stirring of remorse. She hated the way the firm’s investigations caused so much collateral damage.
But as her dad so frequently reminded her, they simply exposed the ugly truth people tried to hide. They weren’t the ones who’d created it. No, that lay at the feet of scammers.
Like this guy?
But
