The Rancher's Prospect. Callie Endicott

was in a filing cabinet,” he said, indicating the armload he carried. “I’ll get rid of it if there’s nothing useful.”

      “I don’t give a crap. But I’m telling Tara I want everything computerized since you’re so highfalutin sure it’s needed.”

      “I just asked her to do that,” Josh returned, all too aware that his request hadn’t gone anywhere. Tara was one of the most infuriating women he’d ever met.

      “She’s working for me, so I’ll do the asking.”

      Why couldn’t his grandfather let go of one blessed thing?

      Tension crept up Josh’s neck. He could have bought a different ranch years ago when a spread south of Schuyler had come up for sale. He’d checked the place out and almost made an offer, but in the end it had felt as if he would be giving up on his heritage.

      Josh glanced toward the rolling grassland studded with trees and livestock. His roots were here; the Boxing N had been in his mother’s family since the 1800s, and in the distance it gave way to mountains that were strikingly beautiful. Back then the land had been cheap, and his Nelson ancestors had bought a vast section of the lower mountainous region as part of the Boxing N, even though it didn’t support many cattle per acre.

      Walt was slowly limping toward the office.

      Josh sighed and followed. He caught up and endured his grandfather’s sour frown as they mounted the three steps. Hellfire, he wanted a good relationship with Walt, but few people, if any, had ever gotten close to him. Walt was like the land itself—unyielding, sometimes unforgiving, and oblivious to the changing times.

      Inside they found Tara lifting an old hand water pump from a drawer; she glanced up as she dropped it onto the desk. She’d removed her suit jacket and there were smudges of dirt across the breast line of her blouse. Josh swallowed. Tara was bad news from start to finish, and he had no intention of allowing his attraction to her to go anywhere.

      “Is something up?” she asked, her face becoming expressionless.

      It struck Josh that her reactions generally seemed measured. Even when arguing with him, he’d had the impression her emotions were carefully controlled. He didn’t trust that kind of restraint. As a rule the McGregors and Nelsons were passionate people; it might mean extra conflicts along the way, but at least you knew where you stood.

      “My grandfather wants to expand your work parameters,” he said before Walt could explain.

      Walt deserved his dignity, but so did he. He certainly didn’t deserve to be treated as if he was thirteen instead of thirty-three.

      “I’ve been thinking about my grandson’s la-di-da modern ideas.” Walt huffed. “So I’ve decided you should take care of that computer stuff. Do it whatever way you think it should be done. You’re the expert.” His tone plainly indicated he didn’t think Josh possessed expertise of any kind.

      “Of course,” Tara replied. “Do you also want me to set up a system where bills can be paid online and checks can be printed?”

      “Online?” Walt asked.

      “Through the internet.”

      How anyone could be unfamiliar with the concept, Josh didn’t know, but he suspected Tara was speaking a foreign language as far as his grandfather was concerned. Josh would have lunged forward with an emphatic yes, but something in her eyes kept him quiet. She’d aligned herself with Walt and would find a way to do things his way, even on the computer. When the time came, Josh was sure he’d have to do a lot of extra work getting things changed to the way he wanted.

      “Is that how other ranches do business?” Walt asked.

      “I can’t speak for other ranches,” Tara said, “but I’ve seen how much time the process saves.”

      “Okay, do it. Get whatever you need for that inter...online thing.”

      “Well, it’s not quite that simple...”

      Behind Walt’s back, Josh shook his head and gave her an intense glare, to which she only raised an eyebrow.

      “You have to have internet service here at the office,” she explained to Walt, “along with a computer, of course.”

      “Get whatever you need.”

      “All right.”

      He limped out, and Josh smiled blandly at Tara. “I already told you that, as the owner, I will make the arrangements for whatever is required here at the office.”

      “Certainly.” She returned his smile with one as carefully bland as his own.

      He’d always preferred women who were more easygoing, so why did this chilly cucumber make him so aware of her?

      “Why didn’t you want me to explain the internet to Walt?” she asked.

      “Because he’s an old-time cattleman and doesn’t understand.”

      “That doesn’t mean he can’t understand, provided the people around him don’t treat him as a senile old man. Or as a child, for that matter. He’s obviously still sharp.”

      “I’m not treating him that way.”

      “Ha.” She shrugged, and he glanced away, not wanting to watch the movement of the soft fabric of her blouse.

      “Incidentally,” he said, “you might find jeans and a T-shirt more practical on the Boxing N than silk.”

      “Thank you so much for the advice,” she returned with an edge of sarcasm. It was probably deserved; he didn’t have any business suggesting what sort of clothing she should wear.

      “Just leave the nonoffice items near the door,” he said. “I’ll get them out of your way later.”

      “If that’s what Walt wants me to do.”

      Seething with anger, Josh left. At least he was going to get the office and accounts computerized, but he wasn’t sure if he’d won or lost the latest skirmish. He didn’t even know if winning and losing was the point. If he won, then his grandfather lost. But if things didn’t get into shape soon, his reputation would suffer, and the ranch might be hard to keep going.

      Josh’s trust fund was generous, but he’d quietly used some of it to pay his grandparents’ medical bills not covered by insurance. There was also the question of gift taxes on the Boxing N, which he fully expected to pay instead of his grandfather. The remaining principal, while substantial, couldn’t support a failing proposition forever.

      * * *

      LAUREN MOVED FROM one patient to another as quickly as possible. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up behind schedule, and that wasn’t fair to Tara—her sister was cutting her first day at the Boxing N short so they could spend the afternoon together. They had planned to do it the previous Friday, but the other physician’s assistant had called, asking her to trade shifts because his wife was ill.

      Her nerves were on edge for fear that Carl might stop by again. It was ironic, because she’d enjoyed her date with him even more than the first ones. After dinner, they’d walked along the river while the sun dropped low in the sky and cast a rosy light over the landscape.

      When she’d described the setting to Tara, her sister had made a dry comment about Carl devising the ideal romantic moment, only to quickly apologize. They hadn’t discussed men that much, but Lauren suspected that neither of them had a stellar record.

      “I heard that you and Sheriff Stanfield went out this weekend,” Ethel Carter commented as Lauren took her blood pressure.

      The nurse had taken it earlier, but the first check was always high. Mrs. Carter got stressed when she walked into the clinic, a case of white-coat syndrome, as it was called. Some medical professionals discounted the condition, but Lauren was a believer.

      “Where did you hear that?” she