Wide Open Spaces. Roz Fox Denny

pasted on a phony smile, closed his briefcase and followed his client out.

      Stunned by a statement she feared was true, Summer sank back into the chair, the fight drained out of her.

      Larkin Crosley grimaced. “Bart would hate the SOB Frank has become. If I’d had any inkling, I’d have urged your dad to put the Forked Lightning in a blind trust for Rory.”

      Summer dredged up a wan smile. “Dad would never have admitted to being wrong about Frank. And even if I’d known he was screwing around on me from the time I was pregnant with Rory, I wouldn’t have told Dad. Don’t worry about might-have-beens, Larkin.”

      “I wish I had money put aside to help you beat that rat at his own game, Summer. Perhaps Bruce Dunlap at the bank—”

      A shake of her head cut him off. “I’m still paying on a farm loan I took out three years ago to buy feed over that really hard winter.”

      “Another bank here in Burns, then?”

      “Perhaps.” She didn’t sound hopeful. “Well, there’s no sense sitting around here. Before I head home, I’ll stop at a few banks and pick up their loan applications.”

      “Will that prevent you from getting home in time to meet Rory’s bus?” Crosley shoved back his sleeve and checked his watch.

      “I asked Audrey to fill in today. I had no idea how long the hearing would run. Turns out it’s a good thing I did ask, what with going to banks and swinging by Doc Holder’s. He said if the eagle recovered sufficiently, I could take her home. I think she has a nest in the gorge. Maybe Rory would like to help me try and spot a papa eagle. If, as I suspect, he’s dead, I’ll have to fetch the babies down tomorrow.”

      “So you weren’t kidding about the eagle?”

      “You know I never kid about injured wildlife. They’re threatened now from all the strangers who flock into our area, acting like big game hunters. How can anyone who’s ever lived here sell out to developers? Those corporations create huge resorts—or chop the land into little pieces for vacation properties. They’ll overrun the mountain and the valley with folks who don’t give a damn about the environment.”

      Crosley shrugged. “It’s happening all around us. Kids inherit the family ranch and equate their inheritance to dollars and cents.”

      “I inherited not only the land, but its spirit, too.”

      “Summer, the soil is in your heart and blood like it was in your daddy’s and grand-daddy’s. Others, strangers, don’t necessarily see what you see.”

      “I know you’re right…but—” She broke off midsentence and stood. “Speaking of strangers, a man by the name of Coltrane Quinn pitched in and helped with the eagle at Myron’s. I vaguely remember seeing a horse trailer, and Quinn had the look of a rancher. Have you heard of any places around Callanton changing hands?”

      “Nope.” The old man scratched his head. “Can’t say I have. Maybe he’s just passing through. Pendleton Roundup is coming up.”

      “That was last month, Larkin. School’s started already.” Summer hid a smile when the old lawyer dragged out his pocket calendar to check the date.

      “Huh, you’re right. Time gets away from me,” he said. “Well, if your Good Samaritan wasn’t rodeo-bound, I don’t know. A drifter, maybe? We get plenty of those. Best keep your distance, Summer.”

      She nodded. But she couldn’t so easily dismiss the image of Coltrane Quinn. The man dressed like a working cowboy. Not flashy like a rodeo chaser. His serious gray eyes reminded her of clouds that rolled in over the gorge right before a rain. His arms, when she’d grabbed for the eagle, had been solid as iron. The man was no weekend wrangler.

      He had a cowlick in the center front of his dark hair that reminded her of Rory’s, although Rory was blond. Quinn’s hair had been walnut-brown. All in all, he’d presented an intriguing picture.

      Larkin spoke, interrupting Summer’s speculation about the helpful stranger. “You were a million miles off. I said, call me if you find a backer. I’ll take a gander at any contract they draw up.”

      “Of course. But don’t hold your breath. Everyone in this neck of the woods is pretty much land-rich and cash-poor, like me. Thanks for being here for me today, Larkin. Dad would be pleased.”

      The old man shrugged off her gratitude. “I didn’t do anything. I’m getting deaf as a post. I’ve tried hearing aids, but those dang things make every little mouse squeak sound like a lion’s roar.”

      Impulsively, Summer hugged him. “You’ve believed in and stood behind the Callans for as long as I can remember. You’re like family. Something I’m very short of, I’m afraid.”

      Larkin shook out a clean white handkerchief and blew his nose. “Why don’t you take back the name Callan, and cut Frank Marsh out of your life forever?”

      “I can’t do that,” she said with a rueful smile. “Rory’s a Marsh and he always will be, regardless of Frank’s and my differences. Our son already feels abandoned by Frank and we’re both still reeling from losing Dad. I may cave on this deal, if for no other reason than to get Frank to pay attention to Rory. Maybe if he gets the money he’s after—”

      “Don’t you dare! I guarantee Bart and Ben will come back to haunt you. To say nothing of old Ben.”

      She laughed, and felt suddenly better. “Point taken, Larkin. If I go down, I’ll go down like a Callan. Fighting to save my land.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      COLT STEPPED OUT OF THE SHOWER and heard his cell phone ringing in the main part of his hotel room. Snatching a towel from the rack, he sprinted out of the bath and dived across the bed to grab the phone from the nightstand. He caught it on the last ring.

      “You must have radar,” he told the gruff-voiced man on the other end of the line. “Either you wake me up at the crack of dawn or you roust me from my shower. You’re running five days for five, Kenyon. So, if I disappear on you, it’s because I’m trying to listen and dress at the same time,” Colt said, reaching into his dresser drawer. “What’s up? Yesterday, you said you’d wait to hear from me.” As he spoke, Colt struggled to drag a pair of briefs over still-wet legs.

      “Sources tell me Ed Adams is calling in a lot of markers. It’s rumored he’s putting together a seven-million-dollar bid on property in Oregon. Marley assumes it’s the Marsh ranch. Can you confirm? And is that the figure we’ve got to beat?”

      “I know there was a court hearing today having to do with the property. I accidentally stumbled upon that information. I can probably get details tonight. If not at dinner, then later in the bar. Frank Marsh’s new lady is out of town. He bellies up to the bar every night to bitch about his ex to anyone who’ll listen.”

      “You’re not hitting the sauce again, are you, Colt?”

      The sudden question went unanswered for a moment.

      “One drink’s my limit these days, Marc. You wouldn’t believe how good I am at nursing a single beer through a long evening. But I understand why you ask, and appreciate your concern. I swear I’ve got my head screwed on straight and my life headed in the right direction now. My goal is to do a good job for the consortium and save enough to buy myself another small spread. And do it before I’m too old to break a green horse,” he added jokingly. “So you’d better believe I’m not squandering my hard-earned cash on booze.”

      “Your word’s good enough for me. God knows, if anyone’s entitled to drown himself in booze, Coltrane, it’s you. Doesn’t mean watching you try was easy on your friends.”

      Colt stopped with his jeans halfway up his hips. Gripping the phone tight, he looked back at his last job as a hostage liberator for a private group of ex-military types. His jungle operation went under, thanks to a rebel coup. Recalling