Part 4 (2/2)

”You can't blame a girl for trying, can you?”

He can't. And he doesn't. But that doesn't mean that he's changing his mind. His eyes slide over on the horizon. They have time for maybe another few tries before they're done. The little sapling reminds him why he's not selling.

”I don't blame you, Miss Lowe. I just want you to know that I'm not changing my mind, in spite of not blaming you.”

”Well, if you won't let me buy your ranch, you could at least let me buy you dinner.” Callahan looks over at her. His eyebrow raises. ”And the boys. Of course. Ain't every day you get that kind of entertainment for free.”

Randy tightens a gloved hand into the reins and throws his weight up onto the horse, and then hangs on for dear life as the ornery son of a b.i.t.c.h gets to trying to throw him off again.

”I couldn't. And neither could they. You got other things on your mind, don't worry about us.”

”Well, Mr. Callahan, I'm not a woman who gives up easy. If I was, I wouldn't be able to do my job. So you're going to be seeing a lot of me. You might as well get the benefits, too.”

He lets out a breath. ”You want to take the boys, they'll eat about anything. But leave me out of it, I'll find something on my own.”

He doesn't want to admit that he doesn't want to start any rumors about the two of them, and he doesn't want to spend any time with her because if some rumors got started then they wouldn't be that far from the truth.

Morgan Lowe is a h.e.l.l of an attractive woman. It's easy to imagine himself with her. It'd be easy for any man to imagine it. The boys seemed to think that he had some ideas in his head about it, and it was hard not to think that maybe he was getting some sort of notion.

He didn't want to get any notions. He wanted to keep working his ranch, get rid of the Black, and get back to his life. Get back to the work that he'd known since he was just a boy.

Because the truth is, there's no s.p.a.ce for a second attractive woman in his life, no matter how much he wants there to be.

Chapter Ten.

Morgan Lowe sits in her car with the lights off, and her stomach doing a flip. What the heck is she thinking? There's nothing to be nervous about.

And yet, it's dark, the lights in the house are still on, and she's got a paper bag full of takeout. Takeout for two, it should be noted. Because she's got to impress somehow, and not being a scaly b.i.t.c.h has been the best way to get him to talk to her so far.

There's no being sure that this will even work. But going out of her way to think about him, maybe, will show that she's got the human element. Maybe she'll look thoughtful.

Maybe she won't. Maybe she'll look pushy and needy and everything that she doesn't want to be described as. Maybe everything will just go sideways, and she'll have to go back with her tail between her legs, knowing that things couldn't possibly go in the direction of selling the place.

But there's a good chance that neither is going to happen. More than likely, she stays in this awful limbo that she's already been in for days now. She'll be allowed to come around, and he won't be even willing to think about it.

Well, everyone's willing to think about it. Everyone has a price, and it's a price that she'd be willing to pay, if it means that she gets to have that feather in her cap. Doesn't matter what the number is-none is too high.

But sometimes the price isn't something in money. Or you can't get them to make the mental translation from the money to whatever they really want.

Sometimes they want what they've got because they think it makes them look better. They don't want the thing, they want to look good. So you give them an out, a way to look good without whatever you wanted. Then the emotions are out of the way, and then they've got a number.

Morgan isn't sure what the emotions are that Callahan is dealing with. He's got history here, and when that history isn't with you any more... well, once she's got a better idea of the problem, she can get a better idea of the solution.

She hefts up the bag of takeout. He'll let her in, or he won't. But she's not going to let herself get turned away by just the thought that he might not. She's got too much pride and she's worked too hard to get where she is, to let it go now.

Not when she's so close.

When she finally makes this sale, they'll have to respect her. The same thing is true of her, after all, as anyone else.

It's not the ranch that matters. It's winning where her father lost, and showing Brad and all those sons of b.i.t.c.hes back at the site that she's not just some woman who wants to priss around the site while the men do the real work.

She's just as much of a leader, just as much of a captain of the s.h.i.+p as her father ever was. Just like him, she's willing to do any job that needs doing. And just like him, as the company grew, she hires the right people so that she shouldn't need to do much on the floor.

This-property acquisition-was what her real job was. Hopefully there wouldn't be a riot waiting for her, Brad Lang at its head, by the time the ink dries.

Chapter Eleven.

It's been a while since there was any reason to keep beer in the house. After all, there aren't any parties going on. n.o.body's coming over to see much of anything.

But with the buyers coming out any day now, it's not hard to imagine that they might want something to drink. Most will take water, some will take soda. A couple might not say no to a beer.

And neither, right now, with the mood he's been in, would Philip Callahan. Not only wouldn't he-he didn't. Not that there was any reason that he shouldn't be drinking a little.

He'd never had cause to drink alone, but it was a little celebration, all for himself. A chance to say to the world that he wasn't giving up. That he'd figure out, some way or the other, how to keep the ranch open.

The stallion went, that was a couple grand right into the ranch. Went into new samples, went into new breeding stock. Went into making it a real business again, making real money. Making more than just horse-hair.

There's a knock at the door. He's not that drunk. There's no way that he's imagining it. The knock comes again, and he sets the can down on the table, next to the four others like it.

The T.V. yammers on in the background, the remote too well-hidden to bother turning it off.

”One second,” he calls out. It takes longer than it should have to pick his way through the room and get to the door. He's made a mess of the room for one thing, and for another, he's not navigating at his best.

The door opens, and on the other side is a pretty woman in a snug-fitting jacket. It's started raining some time in the last couple minutes, and yet it took no time at all to start pouring, and now Morgan Lowe is standing in his doorway dripping wet.

”Can I come in?”

”Uh, sure.” Philip steps back and lets her pa.s.s. She drops a sack of food on the table. It's about the only thing she's got that isn't soaked through. Aside from a few little water-splash marks, it's actually in surprisingly good condition, all told.

”You alright?”

”I got you some food. Us some food.”

”I thought you were going out with the boys?”

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