Convincing the Rancher. Claire McEwen

I understand why. But I’m here to do my job, and that’s what I have to do.”

      “I know.” Samantha attempted a smile but looked forlorn instead. “And can you understand why I’m going to take the other side in this fight?”

      “I do.” Tess hid her distress by taking a last gulp of coffee. “And speaking of the fight, I’d better get to work. It was great seeing you and Jack. Thanks for the breakfast.”

      “I’m sorry if I upset you, Tess.” Samantha stood up. “I don’t want this to come between us. Can we hang out later in the weekend? I’m decorating the baby room, and I could use your style advice.”

      Ugh. Maybe she was a terrible friend, but it sounded like torture. “Honey, you know my style is just about as un–baby friendly as it gets. If you listen to me you’ll have some kind of brushed stainless-steel crib and minimalist wall art.”

      Samantha smiled at her joke, just as Tess had hoped she would. She wanted things to be okay between them, but right now all the ease of their old friendship seemed to have disappeared. Maybe their lives were just too different. She blew Samantha a kiss and put her cup in the sink. Then she was out the door, into the thin mountain air.

      Her shoulders didn’t relax, the tension in her jaw didn’t stop aching, until she was in her car and safely back on the road into town. The one thing she’d been looking forward to in Benson was spending time with Samantha. But she hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t realized that Samantha would be opposed to the windmills and entirely focused on her soon-to-arrive baby.

      There wasn’t much she could do about the windmills, but Tess wished she could muster up some excitement, some love and joy at the prospect of her godson. But that door in her heart was rusted shut by her own deeds and regrets. Tess rolled down the car window and let the cold air flow over her. She’d just have to do what she’d done for so long now that it had become a habit. She’d fake it. She was good at that.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      TESS UNDERSTOOD WHY Renewable Reliance wanted to put windmills in this valley. From inside her Jeep she could hear the wind roaring. She wasn’t looking forward to stepping outside the shelter of the vehicle.

      But she had to brave the gale because Allen Tate, the CEO of Renewable Reliance, was arriving in Benson next week for a video shoot. The footage would be used in a promotional video for the windmill project, and also for advertising the company. The CEO considered himself a pioneer of alternative energy and he’d decided that Benson was a good place to foster that image. And actually, his judgment wasn’t bad. These jagged hills east of Benson absolutely fit the definition of the word rugged.

      They looked like teeth, Tess decided. Teeth from some strange monster with bad oral hygiene. The brown rock had been pushed up abruptly by long-ago geologic forces and didn’t seem to belong in the same region as the surrounding fields. As if to underscore the contrast, cows grazed placidly right below the rocky hills, seemingly oblivious to the dramatic cliffs looming above them.

      Tess took a sip from her water bottle, wishing it were coffee or brandy or something warm. Maybe when all this was over she’d write a book—a city girl’s survival guide for tiny cow towns. First on her list of tips would be to invest in a small espresso machine. Her second tip would be to always have a flask of something stronger on hand, for moments like this one.

      And her third tip, unrelated to beverages, would be to make sure, before agreeing to go, that you’d never slept with any of the tiny-cow-town officials.

      She sighed and zipped up her parka, wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck and pulled her wool cap over her head. Taking the small camera from her purse, she opened the door, only to have the wind slam it shut in her face. She shook her head in awe. There was certainly wind power in this area. She tried again, this time shoving the door with her shoulder. She burst out into the chill afternoon, her senses immediately overwhelmed. All she could hear, smell and feel was wind.

      Holding on to her hat, she trudged into the gusts, scanning the side of the road for places where a few cars could park at the same time. To her relief there was another large turnout beyond the one she’d parked in. Perfect for the film crew. Across the road from it was a gravel driveway and a rustic wooden gate, which led to the fields below the rocky teeth.

      She walked over to take a closer look. If they all hopped the gate they could shoot footage of the CEO right here, with the twisted hills behind him. They could get some pretty light if they filmed in the morning, and she knew the wind would be quieter at that time of day, as well. She took a few pictures and stood staring at the view, trying to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything else she needed to do while she was here.

      The sound of an engine approaching distracted her, and she looked up to see a white pickup pull up behind her rental Jeep and stop. A man jumped out and started running toward her. She had an instant of panic before realizing it was Slaid.

      “Tess, are you okay?” He was shouting as he ran across the road and over to the gate where she stood.

      No, she wasn’t okay. Slaid wore faded jeans, a shearling jacket and cowboy boots—and they all suited him perfectly. She suddenly wished he’d gained weight in the past two years, or gone bald or gotten married. Anything that would make him less attractive.

      “I’m fine. How are you, Slaid?”

      He stopped in front of her and she noted that he wasn’t even out of breath. “I saw your Jeep and thought maybe you had some car trouble and needed help.”

      The idea that he’d assumed she was some kind of damsel in distress was a little irritating. “Thanks. I’m good. Just taking a few pictures. We’re doing a video shoot out here next week.”

      His brows rose. “A video here? Why?”

      “This is where they’re siting the windmills.” Tess shoved her hands in her pockets, wishing they could have this chat somewhere warmer.

      “You’re kidding me.” His voice was suddenly rough and low. “And when were you going to tell me about this?”

      “Actually I was planning on keeping it a big secret,” she snapped back. Slaid scowled, evidently not amused by her sarcastic humor. “I was going to stop by on my way back to town. The email with the map and directions just came an hour ago.”

      His expression grew even more contorted as he looked over at the hills. “Well, the directions must be wrong. They can’t site their project here. This is my land.”

      “No, that can’t be right.” She looked around at the desolate landscape, wondering if she’d made a mistake. She didn’t think so.

      “I think I know my own pasture, Tess. And those are definitely my cattle over there.”

      His attitude wasn’t helping their situation, or her mood, which was rapidly deteriorating. She was cold, and a dull ache drummed in her temples, probably from all this wind. “Well, I suppose it’s possible I read the map wrong. Why don’t you take a look at it with me? It’s in my car.”

      They walked in troubled silence back across the road and wrestled the doors open. Slaid sat in the passenger seat and Tess pulled her hat off and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “I don’t know how you live with this wind.”

      Slaid didn’t answer, just reached for the folded map on her dashboard.

      Tess sensed the distress radiating off him and figured she’d steer clear of any more small talk. She fished in her bag for her file of documents and found the page she’d been looking at previously. She handed the directions to Slaid. “Look, it says mile marker twenty-three.” She pointed ahead of them, where a small white sign had been placed close to the ground, the number twenty-three clearly visible. “So that’s it, right?”

      Slaid was quiet, looking at the map before folding it carefully and setting it back on the dashboard. He handed Tess the directions. He didn’t look at