Gambling On A Secret. Sara Walter Ellwood
The sudden stab of fresh grief took her breath.
Hank set his big hands on his hips. His hard face held no emotion but disdain. “I want you to know I’ve spent a lifetime collecting Old West art and artifacts and expect you to stay out of certain rooms. I won’t have you destroying a million dollar masterpiece just because you want to romp.”
She flinched at the harshness of his voice, but she wouldn’t be intimidated. “Was Momma forbidden from these rooms, too?”
He turned and started walking away. “Yes. Come along, I don’t have all day.”
After showing her where she wasn’t allowed to go in the house, Hank opened a door to one of the bedrooms. “This is your room. It was your mother’s.”
She looked around at the large bedroom. There wasn’t a hint of her mom anywhere in the floral spread and white walls. “Do you still have some of Momma’s old stuff?”
“No,” he said at the doorway. “I got rid of it when she left with you.”
“Why did she leave?”
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head and shivered at his brusqueness. Didn’t he care his only child was dead?
“I disowned her when she refused to give you up for adoption. I’d planned for her to marry a business partner of mine, but when she got pregnant by a saddle tramp, he bailed out of the deal. I lost a fortune because of your mother’s whoring around.” With a sneer, he left the room.
She wrapped her arms around herself and pushed the memory to the back of her mind by looking around the parlor of the Ferguson mansion. A vase in the corner reminded her of one of the famous Mings she’d learned about in an art history class. Several oil paintings graced the walls. One look at them convinced her they were originals, like Hank’s Old West paintings.
At least she wouldn’t have to look at his precious art collection again. After the last pieces sold, she was three quarters of a billion dollars richer.
When the pocket door slid open, she forced a pleasant smile as a man entered the room. Leon Ferguson was tall and lean. His dark suit had designer written all over its perfect tailoring. She guessed him to be in his early forties by the hint of silver at his temples. His tanned angular face, high cheekbones and dark, intelligent eyes hinted at Indian blood. He radiated masculine confidence by the bucketfuls.
“Miss Monroe, welcome,” he drawled, taking her hand into his. A large ruby signet ring graced his finger, reminding her of royalty.
“Mr. Ferguson, hello. Thank you for meeting with me on a Saturday.” After he let go, she clasped her hands in front of her. He moved his gaze over her. Why hadn’t she dressed more conservatively instead of the short black skirt and her favorite periwinkle blue silk sweater? When a chill, which had nothing to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with the heat in his eyes, skittered down her spine, she hugged herself.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I had an errand to run this afternoon.”
His smile broadened as he turned toward the couch in the center of the vast room. “You must be extremely busy moving in. Besides, I just finished an important conference call. I’m in the middle of a land deal in Colorado.” He faced her and held a hand out to gesture toward the silk-covered couch. “But you aren’t here to be bored by my woes. Please sit and make yourself comfortable.”
She gingerly sat on the edge of the ornate sofa.
Ferguson sat across from her in a matching wingchair. He rested his arms on the sides and folded his hands in his lap. “When you called, you said you were interested in entering a business arrangement.”
The housekeeper entered, carrying a silver tray full of delicate cakes and a coffee set. She served them espresso and Leon dismissed her.
With shaky hands, Charli held onto the fragile china cup and saucer. “Yes, I’m wondering if you’d contract some of your ranch hands and equipment out to me. I’d like to get my pasture land cleaned up, a few fields planted, and my main corrals fixed. I’ll pay ten percent above the going rate for the service. I don’t want to waste any more time while I’m looking for a manager, and can hire my own workers.”
Ferguson leaned back and sipped his coffee. His demeanor was the epitome of politeness. But some underlying magnetism of his dark eyes lured her in. She squirmed with apprehension and excitement at the same time.
He set his cup and saucer down on the low Chippendale table between them. “The old place needs a great deal of work. Quite overwhelming, I’m sure, for someone so young.”
“I may be young, but I know what I’m doing. I helped run my grandfather’s ranch for years.”
“Of course, but Blackwell Ranch is a big investment.” Leon regarded her with shrewd deep brown eyes as he sipped his coffee.
She held her saucer in one hand and laid the other on her thigh below the hem of her short skirt. When his gaze lowered to her legs, she tugged on the hem of her skirt and shrugged. The hot interest showing in his eyes shook her attempt at confidence. “I have a business plan and enough capital to invest. The house and most of the outbuildings need work, but I like the ranch and want to make Colton my home.”
“These old mansions do hold a certain charm.”
“Yes, they do, and I have plans for the house.” She wasn’t ready to share more of her ideas for the future.
“If I can be of service with the renovation, please don’t hesitate to ask. Here in Forest County, neighbors watch out for each other.”
Did she want Leon Ferguson watching out for her? What if he decided to look into her past? Hank had made sure if anyone tried to investigate her past, they’d hit a brick wall regarding her connection with Ricardo Rodriquez, a Las Vegas drug dealer, pimp and nightclub owner. But even Hank, with all his money and power, couldn’t cover up Ricardo’s serving a life sentence with no chance of parole for those crimes, as well as six counts of first-degree murder.
Her stomach twisted into a knot. No way could she drink the dark coffee. What if Leon somehow discovered her former cocaine addiction?
He made a weak gesture toward her cup with a flick of his hand. “Would you prefer something else? Tea, water, wine?”
She swallowed hard to get the stinging taste of anxiety off her tongue, and shook her head. “No, thank you, coffee’s fine.” Maybe one sip would appease him and get the hot pepper feeling out of her mouth. “Neighbors looking out for each other is one of the things I love about the area.”
“Me, too. Colton and Forest County have a wonderful sense of community.” He picked up his cup and took a drink. “I’ll be more than happy to spare a few of the boys to get your place ready. It’ll be easy to come up with a cost workup. Call you tomorrow to set up another meeting to sign a contract?” His smile eased her apprehension as he placed the saucer and cup back on the table. “A crew could start as early as Monday.”
“Wow. That would be wonderful, thanks. You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you. It was built in 1867. A replica of the plantation house co-founder of the county, Dylan Ferguson, had left to come west with his cousins, Elijah Blackwell and Cole Cartwright, after the Civil War. Much of the art is my mother’s. She’s an art collector. In fact, she left for Greece yesterday for an auction.”
She sipped more coffee. After the initial swallow, the rich brew did ease her nerves a bit. “Does she live here with you?”
“No, she moved to Dallas after my stepfather died.” He leaned over his long legs and cranked up the intimacy of the meeting.
Okay, the nervousness was back, but in a different way. Leon was a handsome man.